


The Mage & the Mother

by Fluidfyre



Series: In the Footsteps of Neria Surana [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Character Development, Complete, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Female Protagonist, M/M, Magic, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-10
Updated: 2011-03-05
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:19:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 88,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluidfyre/pseuds/Fluidfyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The elven mage Neria Surana assumes command of Vigil's Keep, weathered by the war and alone but for Zevran. Alistair is sent abroad in the company of Lt. Leonie Caron, the Orlesian Warden, and must find a way to rationalize their survival when he faces the First Warden at Weisshaupt.</p><p>"I hate the stars because I look at the same ones you do, without you."</p><p>Set within DA:A, sequel to Veneficus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Paths

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: While this is the sequel to my other story 'Veneficus' it should be fine to read as a stand alone DA:A story as well. I hope you enjoy it, and I always look forward to hearing comments/criticism from readers!
> 
>  
> 
> SPOILER WARNING: That being said, this is my spoiler warning for Dragon Age:Origins, Dragon Age: Awakening, as well as the two books by Gaider, The Calling and The Stolen Throne. I use information from all of them in contributing to this.
> 
> Dragon Age is the property of Bioware, I make no profit from this, I just love the universe(s) they and their writers think up, and can't help but get sucked into them in my imagination!

Neria stood in the small garden out back of the compound, eyes on the break at the base of the wall, hand at the ready. When the rat poked out its head, she chanted in arcanum, and it froze into a white-crusted statue. Unappeased, she picked up a stone from the dirt and hucked it at the rodent, shattering it to pieces.

"I have not known you to be so wantonly cruel, Warden."

Bending to run her hand over a sprouting pea shoot, she murmured, "They carry disease. I seem to remember you being rather paranoid about things like that."

"Oh? It is all for my benefit, then?"

Standing, the mage turned back towards the diminutive door that led inside and produced a handful of waxy leaves, "The first harvest of the spring."

Snagging the deathroot leaves, Zevran grinned lightly, still leant against the doorway as he broke the thick cuticle, "Could have some good fun with this," he dabbed his tongue into the milky liquid that spilt out, "Mm, potent. The Chasind use it as a hallucinogen, you know. Well, and others too."

"I know," Neria idly said, crossing to another raised bed to squat and pluck weeds. The compound in Denerim had been quiet in the weeks since the Wardens had left for Amaranthine. She would depart soon - a messenger had come to say that bands of darkspawn were troubling the landholders - once matters were wrapped up in the capital. Shaking the soil from the roots of a particularly stubborn thistle, she flung it against the wall, and it dropped into the haphazard pile there.

"You have been cooped up in here too long. Why do you not come with me into the city?"

"I'm used to being stuck inside," Neria murmured, rubbing the fuzzy leaf of the elfroot she was cultivating. "Besides, I'm outside right now, mm?"

"Hardly what I meant."

Neria ignored him as she pruned away the lower leaves, tucking them into the pouch on her robes. Wiping the dirt from her hands she stood, looking down, "We could go to the barracks. The sergeant keeps suggesting I come look for recruits."

"Ah yes, most definitely my idea of an exhilarating afternoon," Zevran drawled, strolling into the garden, keeping to the cobbles as he minded his boots.

Neria drifted to another bed, bending to thin through the heatherum and foxite. "Right, we should be sneaking in back alleyways looking for brigands to slaughter."

The Antivan arched a brow as he watched her, wiping his smirk away before he casually said, "Now that sounds more to my liking."

Chewing on a bit of leaf, Neria spat it out and murmured, "Too long since you killed someone?"

Putting a hand over his heart, Zevran sighed, "Si, it seems I may lose my touch. How could you let this happen to me, sweet Warden?"

Neria threw some of the crushed rock from her pocket over the soil of one plot, "You don't need my permission to slake your bloodlust."

"Perhaps it is better I stick to killing rats?"

Wiping the white powder from her hands, Neria stopped and closed her eyes, "What do you want from me, Zevran?"

"While I could list many a sordid thing," Zevran's expression grew serious as he linked his arm with hers, "Seeing you smile might be enough."

A rosy hue on her cheeks, Neria tried to pull her arm away, only to have it pinned as her voice soured, "I don't feel like smiling. I have to save that for the adoring crowds."

Zevran gave her a squeeze and let go, "He will return, if he had a choice, he would not have left."

"That does not make it any more enjoyable," Neria was already half-way through the door when she paused, "You know Morrigan once told me there is always a choice. Perhaps not a good choice, or an easy one... but that each path we take is a choice we make."

Idly crossing his arms, Zevran waited till she was gone and said, "So what do you think of your sister, Alim?"

There was the pad of feet in soil as the young man hopped down from the fence, "How did you know I was there?"

"Please," Zevran purred, grinning as the elf approached, "I can scarce give away the secrets of my trade."

Lightly blushing, Alim crossed his arms and met the Antivan's gaze, his expression near mirroring what might be Neria's diplomatic visage, "But you said you'd teach me."

"And I have been," Zevran chuckled, lingering closer to him, "You made it from the alienage to here without incident, no?"

"I guess so," he murmured, falling back a step as he glanced askance.

"So you are minding the compound for our Commander before more Wardens return to fill its halls?"

"Yeah, she got me the dispensation - my friends back home are pretty jealous. It'll be odd being separate from them so much."

"I can imagine," Zevran said, eyes turning up from where he traced along the young man's arm.

"I wish you weren't going to Amaranthine. Well - and Neria too," Alim flushed again, pulling his arm back and Zevran grinned, "I don't even know if she's wanted me around."

"She does. You have been a good handhold in the city," Zevran idly clasped his hands together behind him as the pair walked towards the compound. "Who knows, perhaps once things are settled at Vigil's Keep, you might join us?"

"Join the Grey Wardens?"

"No," he laughed. "I do not understand this fascination. No, but she is the arlessa now, yes?"

Alim nodded, glancing back through the garden absently.

"Now," Zevran said, rubbing his hands together, "I have not had a good spar in some days. Let us go see if you have been practising your technique."

* * *

Alistair stood in the wind, trying his best to hold the oilskin cloak about his wide frame. Fog obscured the ends of the docks and the windy sea-passage north of the city. He had spent the last weeks following the Orlesian Warden Leonie Caron to Vigil's Keep and through Amaranthine as she took care of personal and official affairs alike. A recruit for the order had already been sent back to the Keep, liberated from the city jail on her order.

He had not seen the worth of the man, clad in just his smallclothes in the tight quarters of the cell. It was only when Leonie handed the man a few implements that he demonstrated what she had somehow seen - Gabon? Was that his name? - had been out of the cell and pinned the woman against the wall.

It was ridiculous. But, at least it was just the two of them now - the other Wardens had left to escort the slob to Vigil's Keep. Leonie was now forced to speak in the king's tongue if she wished any company at all. No more whispering about him in some nasally foreign language, Alistair thought.

Stamping his feet, Alistair turned his back into the wind and muttered under his breath, "Maker's breath."

The door opened and the wind caught it, blowing it wide, leaving Leonie scrambling to close it behind her. When it was finally slammed, she leant close to Alistair, "We will stay at the inn. We have passage for the morning."

Alistair held the neck of his cloak, the hood flapping as they turned down the rough path. The port down the cliffs from the main city of Amaranthine could scarce be called a village of its own - it was close enough to accommodate commerce, but small enough that very few permanently lived there. "Passage to Cumberland?"

Leonie nodded, eyes hard as she said, "Yes. I believe it is our best bet. It will save us months of time."

"Great..."

"I take it you have not sailed before?"

"I've never left Ferelden. Before the Blight, I'd barely even seen much of my own country."

There was a devious glint in Leonie's eye, "What about riding? Do you ride horses?"

"A little in my youth - admittedly, I spent a lot of time around them," Alistair murmured, and when the woman arched a brow he added, "Sleeping in stables and all, very high brow."

The Orlesian chuckled, her cloak flapping with ease behind her, "And this is the man who could have been king? Only in Ferelden."

Alistair held his tongue as they trudged down the hill, holding open the door of the tavern for Leonie to pass through without a glance or thanks. Inside the close quarters, a hot fire burnt and kept the room steamy. Alistair pushed his hood back as Leonie spoke to the proprietress. Up the short stairs, they were showed to a room, and he sighed as the door shut.

"We are lucky to find passage. Spring travel is not common - especially from Amaranthine. The cape, it is..." Leonie sucked on her teeth before saying, "Storm-ridden?"

"Sounds like a pleasant journey for us then."

Leonie chuckled and shook the water from her cape, draping it over a chair by the fire. "It will be an experience."

"Are we sharing the bed?" Alistair's voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat before adding, "Please, take the bed. I'll be fine over here."

"I am hardly threatened by sharing a bed with a man, Alistair," Leonie casually said, shaking her hair back over her shoulders to crimp her fingers into the tresses.

"It's fine really," he coughed again, looking away as he easily unstrapped his bedroll, "I grew quite used to sleeping on hard ground."

"Get used to close quarters. They will be even tighter on the ship." Keeping her sword on her hip, Leonie thinly smiled as she opened the door, "And best enjoy our last warm meal."

"Right," Alistair said, lingering as she returned to the common room. Kicking his bedroll into the corner, he sighed and sat heavily into the chair. The lieutenant's cloak dripped down his back.

* * *

Zevran put the basket onto the table, leaning on a chair as he waited for Neria to turn. There were piles of half-opened books all around her, and the walls were lined with shelves.

The mage was consumed in her task, minding a bubbling flask as she ground the mortar. It was a few moments before she added the paste to it and saw she wasn't alone, "What is that?"

"More charity from the faceless public," Zevran said with a grin.

Adjusting the flame under the flask with a flick of her wrist, Neria reached for the bundle. Her hands black with paste, she hesitated and wiped them on her robes before untying the cloth, "I didn’t think people would remember me so long."

"Well, I did not speak of the few who protest - that I shooed away, I might add - those with kin in Amaranthine."

Neria muttered to herself, sniffing one of the cakes before taking a bite. She spoke through the mouthful, "Not bad. Not dead yet either."

"If they did it right, you would have to eat the whole cake before you noticed something awry."

"That's reassuring," she turned the cake over before dropping it back in the basket. Neria beckoned him up the stairs with her, snagging a difference bread from the table. Fingers swirling, she uttered a short command and the flame under the flask snuffed out, the oil lamp blocked with ice.

"So dramatic."

"Quiet you."

They moved with certain haste out of the compound and through the city. Neria kept her chin down to avoid notice as they talked. Much of the city knew her by sight, thanks to the constant public appearances the Queen had demanded in the months after the Blight.

Through the gates of Fort Drakon, a shadow fell over Neria. They went to the barracks where a small contingent soldiers was training. One of the captains broke away to grasp her hand as she approached.

"Warden Commander, I'm glad you were able to make it," The captain righted his posture before adding, "Or should I address you as arlessa?"

"There's something to get used to," Zevran murmured at her side.

"Please," she said," Neria itself is fine. And this is Zevran."

"As you wish, m'lady," The captain led them through the soldiers up for consideration, the men and women standing in ranks for inspection.

Hands clasped on her stave, Neria appraised them in general before saying, "Well, let me see them spar."

Zevran took her side, and the mage crossed her arms over the staff, the glowing crystal held in the knotted end casting a bluish glow over her features. "So, how will you pick?"

The spars began, and Neria stood impassive by his side for some time before she said, "Pick the best fighters for me. Then they'll spar you." The elf turned away to talk to those taking breaks from the fighting. A young woman was trying to adjust her mail, cursing under her breath as she tugged at a pauldron. "Need a hand?"

"Warden Commander!" The human woman stood up, clutching a winged helmet to her chest, "I - It is just stubborn, I need to get it fitted right."

"Here," Neria motioned to the woman, "What is your name?"

Brow in a dubious line, the woman lifted her arms and regarded the elf suspiciously, "Mhairi, ser."

Neria's expression remained neutral as she undid a few of the straps, "Twist your shoulder - perfect." Tugging down the jerkin underneath, she shook her head, "You need better under armour. At least, if you want to wear this - it's suited for a man, isn't it."

"Yes, ser," Mhairi said, before adding, "It's hard to find good armour fitted for a woman."

"I know," Neria lightly grinned, "Does the military not have a proprietary smith?"

"It does," she murmured.

"But?" Neria asked, still adjusting the armour before deftly tugging the straps closed.

"He is not too fond of women in the ranks."

"Mm," Neria motioned for her to put her arms down, "How does that feel?"

"I - better, ser. Thank you."

"Let's see you spar Zevran," Neria pointed at the Antivan as he cut a man in chainmail down. She wandered away, crossing her arms and adjusting her robes. Talking with another few recruits, her attention turned back to the ring, where the spars had reduced to just Zevran and Mhairi.

With a lithe move, the Antivan slipped past Mhairi's swing, spinning to kick her in the small of the back and send her sprawling to the ground.

Scrambling back to her feet, Mhairi went on the defensive and snapped, "You fight without honour."

"I apologize," Zevran said with a grin, swirling his sword as he maintained a relaxed posture, "I had not realized the darkspawn do either."

Mhairi made a frustrated sound and engaged him again, their swords glancing together, before Zevran was able to get off another shot. With a snap of his wrist, she was knocked off kilter, hand to her head before he knocked her to the ground.

"Do you yield?"

"Yes! Now get off of me."

There was a chuckle from some of the soldiers surrounding them, and Zevran rolled off to take Neria's side. His sword and dagger already sheathed, he offered a hand, but Mhairi struggled up alone.

"So," Neria asked as the soldiers assembled at their captain's command, "What do you think, Zev?"

* * *

Marching along the Pilgrim's Path, dark clouds swirled overhead as Neria directed them to make camp for the night. Rowland removed the large pack and heavy skeins slung over his shoulder, laying them down where she indicated. The tents were popped and wood lain for a fire, before the mage's touch brought it roaring to life.

Eating the hind taken down by Mhairi's bow, they lounged by the fire under a clear sky. Slumped amidst her things, Neria dropped the satchel of spices into a pot of wine and set it in the fire. She pulled the heavy cloak around her shoulders, concealing her small frame as the soldiers chatted.

Zevran slipped back amongst them and sat beside her, propped in the lee of their tent. "We should be fine for the evening. I have some traps set."

"It's alright," Neria said, "I'll take a watch. And if I need to sleep, I'll wake one of them."

"Excuse me?" Rowland asked.

"We are not in the city anymore. There must always be someone awake to ensure we are not slaughtered in our sleep."

Rowland glanced down, stumbling a moment, "Oh - right. Yes. Of course."

Drawing attention away, Mhairi asked, "So you fought with the Warden Commander in the war?"

"Indeed I did," Zevran glanced at Neria, who had a journal splayed open in her lap. Her expression would be hidden from a human's eyes by the shadow her hood cast. "To the very end."

"I wish I had been part of the army that reclaimed the city. It is a glorious moment in our history."

"There is no glory in war. There is no glory in being a Grey Warden," Neria interjected, fingers smoothing up the page as she fidgeted with a stub of graphite, "It is an honour - and a duty above all else. You must do whatever you can to stop the darkspawn and to protect people from them, and from themselves."

"Of course, ser," Mhairi glanced at Rowland, who tossed a stone into the fire and collapsing a few of the burning logs, "I am deeply honoured you chose me."

"As am I, m'lady. I hope we can make you proud."

Neria remained silent, immobile for a few moments before the simple stick in her hand traced over the drawing on her page. She bit into her bottom lip. The fire crackled before she said, "As a Grey Warden, one acts for the better of all men."

Eyes turning from the page in Neria's lap, Zevran said, "You both were kept from the war?"

"My brother went to fight early on," Mhairi said quickly, crossing her arms to hunch down and keep warm, "He was lost somewhere near Lothering. They never recovered his body."

"I was on my father's holding. We were doing our best to keep it from the civil war and the Blight, but I know in the end it was a lost cause," Rowland sighed. "It was crushed, and I lost most of my family. But the Hero of, well, you ser - you made me want to be part of something. I never thought I'd ever meet you - let alone be recruited into the Wardens."

The thin metal cups clanked in her grasp as Neria poured the mulled wine and handed them out, "If I have learned anything, it is that you cannot predict, in any way, what lot life will give you. Imagine all you want, and it will just hand you something more fantastical."

Zevran chuckled and leant back, resting the cup on a knee as he said, "And when you are around our dear Warden that is doubly so."

"So you will be joining the order as well, ser Arainai?"

Almost choking on his wine, Zevran recovered with grace and said, "No."

"No? But you have so much experience fighting darkspawn. You are coming with us to Vigil's Keep - and well..." Mhairi drew back, clasping her cup with both hands, "You are obviously a capable combatant."

"I am not ... suited to being a Grey Warden, as it were."

Neria snapped her journal shut, tying the leather around it before standing and tossed it in her tent. She walked out of the light of the fire.

Mhairi watched her go, looking slightly mortified before she asked, "Did I say something?"

"No, no," Zevran said, watching Neria in his periphery, "She has taken the watch, she will ensure our safety."

"That's reassuring, I'm not sure I could feel more safe than with the Hero of Ferelden watching over us," Rowland said.

"No harm shall come to us, that I assure you." Zevran sipped his wine, "It is best to rest soon, as no doubt she will wake us at first light."

"Yes ser," Mhairi said, shaking out her cup before moving to her tent.

 _Beyond the firelight, Neria hesitated at the edge of camp, looking into the forest. Her elven eyes allowed her to see by the starlight, each bush and tree gilded in the faintest silver._

 _"What do you think they are?" she asked._

 _Keeping his eyes closed, Alistair took her hand to keep Neria pinned against him, "What?"_

 _She grinned and said, "The stars."_

 _"I don't know," he murmured, and she closed her eyes, "But some of the most beautiful things are more a mystery to me."_

Blinking widely at the sky, Alistair saw a gap in the clouds, revealing a clutch of stars that was wholly unfamiliar to him. The ship pitched as the sea rolled, undulating and tossing up a mist of frigid water.

"Maker's breath," he said, gripping the rail as he hung forward and just barely kept his stomach down. He gulped the cold air whipping across the deck.

"Why don't you go below deck?"

"Yes, because the smell down there really helps with the nausea."

The breath puffed from Leonie's nostrils as she exhaled into the cool evening air, "The belly of the ship rocks a good deal less."

Alistair groaned before murmuring, "I'll take the fresh air and cold, thanks."

"Suit yourself," Leonie strode across the deck with ease on her sea-accustomed legs, “Go there.”

Glancing to where she pointed, Alistair drifted aft, and the boat swung. Falling into a pile of looped rigging, he sighed and stayed. Sitting at the middle of the stern, the undulating side-to-side sway was lessened, and he closed his eyes.


	2. To the Vigil

The sun disappeared over the edge of the horizon as they climbed through the rolling hills, and the overcast sky grew more ominous. There was the crack of lightning on the road ahead.

Rowland groaned, “Andraste’s mercy, at least we will be there soon.”

“A hot meal and bed sound a perfect thing,” Zevran said, “I cannot deny, it is something I have grown accustomed to.”

“Spoiled is more like it,” Neria murmured, shucking her hood up as heavy drops began to fall. The fields around them soaked up the rain, lush with   
seeding grain.

“One must never object to being spoiled,” Zevran grinned, tugging his own oilskin closed, “Too often the tides turn.”

“Commander, what is our next step once we reach the keep?”

Keeping pace beside Mhairi, Neria said, “There will be some tasks for you to complete before you may be considered for the Joining.”

“What is that?”

“You will learn more –“ Neria glanced up as she heard a scream. Her eyes dilated in the low light, as there came a flutter in her heart, “Darkspawn.”

“What?” Rowland furrowed his brow as Neria drew her sword.

“Ready yourselves,” she snapped, stepping up her pace.

Running across the field, Neria put herself between a fallen farmer and the genlocks on his trail. Limbs fortified by arcane concentration, she sliced the Spellweaver through the stunted darkspawn, and wound round to decapitate it with a fluid blow.

An attacking hurlock glanced off her blade, and was about to stab again when Zevran’s dagger found its spine. In another moment, the few darkspawn were cut to the ground, and Neria went to the farmer’s side.

“Are you alright, ser?”

“I – it’s you! You’ve come, the Hero! Andraste preserve us!” The man trembled as she helped him up, his leather armour shoddy and bloody, “They came from the Keep, m’lady.”

“What?”

“They overran us – they’re all dead! Please! My wife works in the kitchens, I can’t lose her!”

Zevran grabbed the man’s arm as he clutched Neria, and the elven mage eased her voice, “We’ll do everything we can. Where are the Wardens?”

“I think they’re inside. I was trapped, we’ve been under siege almost two days. I had to get help, thank the Maker you’re here!”

“Good. Where is your farm - there? Zevran and Rowland will help you to safety. Mhairi, come with me," Neria turned to the Antivan as she said, "I will come find you once we have swept the outer keep."

"If you insist," Zevran replied.

Marching towards the outer wall, Mhairi began to speak, "This shouldn't be happe -"

The front gates split from an explosion within, and they stumbled back as a throng of darkspawn spilt out. Shielding her eyes for the flicker of fire up the ramparts, Neria took an arrow in the shoulder, the linked mail splitting as it buried deep. Crying out, her eyes glazed, and she shuddered and   
staggered to jerk it out.

"Maker's mercy!" Mhairi seemed at a loss, watching her commander with an odd expression. It was only when a hurlock battered her that she sprung to life, whipping her shield to cut the creature down.

Swarmed by the onslaught, Neria stabbed her sword into the hurlock against her, pushing off before raising the bloodied blade overhead. Fingertips sparking with drawn power, she braced herself and uttered the arcanum command. Energy coalesced down her body in a white nimbus, before bursting through the throng of darkspawn. The chilling light clung to their limbs, evolving into thick blocks of ice and slicking the ground with frost.

Gasping a visible breath in the sudden deep freeze, Neria backed by Mhairi's side, and together their swords clattered through the immobilized darkspawn. Steel sliced limbs and the their taint spilt out, the black blood thick in their veins spattering on the ice.

Mhairi cried out, stumbling as an unnatural energy enveloped her limbs. The contours of her skull silhouetted on her features as her scream choked off, a red mist seeping from her eyes.

Catching a hurlock on her shield, Neria sliced through its legs and followed through to stab its head to the ground. Icy cobbles crunching underfoot, she clumped towards the emissary, form flickering gold and a protective aura glowing about her. An arrow whizzed by before she slashed across the darkspawn mage, disrupting its concentration. With another few deft moves, the crackling blade slit over its throat, and its scream cut away.

Surrounded by the bodies, Neria pulled off her helmet, trying to smooth her sweaty white hair back from her eyes. Sinking the winged helm back on, she hurried to Mhairi, helping her to her feet. She hastily healed their wounds, before the sounds of combat broke over the growing storm.

"Follow me!"

Nearby they found a contingent of guards by a burnt barrier, fighting off a clutch of darkspawn. Through their combined efforts, the monsters soon lay dead. The sky cracked open, and a torrent of rain fell on them.

"Thank the Maker for you! Please - my men are dying."

"Secure the barrier, I will do what I can."

Close on Neria's heels, Mhairi followed her commander with wide eyes, armour spattered with blood, "Where are the Wardens, Commander?"

There was the murmur of recognition around them as Neria checked the eyes and mouths of the injured soldiers. She handed bandages to one of the men and said, "Keep your head."

"Yes, ser! Of course," Mhairi stammered.

At the last bed, Neria grimaced, rain dripping down her helmet and washing away the darkspawn blood to leave her pale. With a flick of her wrist, she drew her dagger and slit the man's throat.

"M-Maker's breath, what are you -" One of the soldiers gaped.

"Return to your post! He is beyond aide, the rest will live - " Neria was already on her feet, sword in hand once more, " - until the Keep is secure and I can return."

Neria hesitated on the rampart, looking over the walls to the surrounding fields. In a flash of lightning, she saw a clash of bodies in combat, and   
her insides ground together in a sickly fashion. They were tugging at her from all directions, a need and acid in her soul. A sudden fireball broke the darkness, and she grabbed Mhairi.

"Commander?

"They need us," Neria huffed, leading them down the rampart.

"Why did you kill that man?"

Heading for the gate, Neria didn't meet Mhairi's gaze, "He was sickened by the taint. He could make others sick, and there is no cure."

"But you just killed him, ser!"

"It is my job to protect the Keep, the city - the country - from the taint and from darkspawn. As will it be yours. You must do anything, Mhairi."

They hurried across the field in further silence, no word needed as they engaged another throng of darkspawn. Bodies of soldiers, and more curiously templars, stained the fields. They found Zevran fighting alongside a mage, and another flush of flames flared to set the beasts alight.

When the last body fell, Zevran pulled Neria with him, "It is Rowland."

"Oh Maker," Mhairi saw the man against the wall at the edge of the field, "Rowland!"

"Mhairi?" The man struggled to open his eyes, and when he shifted, the halbard that impaled him ripped the wound deeper. His breath shuddered as the rain spattered where it should never touch.

"What have you gone and done now?"

Neria knelt by them, and put a hand on his shoulder as she looked at the wound. The edges of it knitted shut as she spoke a healing word, but the profusion of blood wouldn't let up. "I'm sorry, it is beyond healing."

"I - I got to meet you, Commander - the Hero of Ferelden - how many people can say that?" Rowland's breath gurgled as he choked and his eyes closed.

"You fought brave, go to the Maker's side," Mhairi whispered, expression crushed as she brought her hand over his eyes.

The sky cracked with light as Neria turned away from them to face the mage that Zevran had kept from fleeing, "Are you - you..."

"Oh hey, I know you," The mage's face scrunched up, and he looked her up and down, "Maybe no great Warden-Commander hero thing, but I didn't do so bad, did I? Wait no - I, I didn't kill them - the darkspawn set on us, Maker, I swear."

"The group was upon them when we arrived," Zevran confirmed, sheathing his sword and dagger before crossing his arms and looking the man over.

Neria followed suit, grimacing as Mhairi came back to her side, "Of all the mages... and you couldn't help him?"

Anders made a sound before saying, "I was trying to keep from dying myself, thank you."

"You know him?"

"Every mage in the Tower knows of him, at least."

"Really? Do you think so?"

Neria sighed before cutting in, "What are you doing here - Anders? Is it Anders?"

"That's me... the templars were bringing me in."

"Escaped again? You were in solitary confinement the last I heard."

"Welllll," Anders drew a breath, glancing cautiously at the Antivan, who regarded him with steely eyes, "My time was up and all. After the big mess with Uldred, they sort of needed mages. Or something like that."

"So you fought in the war?"

"Oh no, ech no, I was out before then," he grinned sheepishly, "One of my best escapes yet."

Neria crossed her arms, the rain pelting down and soaking them to the bone. The wind was blowing, cooling the already chilled air, and she shivered as she watched her fellow mage.

"He was quite an asset, I cannot deny," Zevran murmured by her ear, and Neria watched him still.

Glancing skyward, Anders shouldered his stave as the rain soaked through his robes, "So, I don't suppose you'll consider not sending for more templars?"

"Commander, a guard is coming from the Keep."

Maker, she was going to regret this. Hardening her voice, Neria fixed her gaze on Anders, "Come help us fight the darkspawn, and we'll see."

* * *

"So a dwarf that smells like a brewery? You never see that anywhere."

Neria sighed as Anders followed her up the stairs. Lightning crashed through the window slit of the tower, illuminating the dark passage.

"You know, I find it entertaining that the boss here isn't the one in the dress."

"I cannot deny, it might be nice to see such a thing... Preferable, even."

"Zevran!"

The Antivan raised a hand as he braced a shoulder against the door, jarring it open with Oghren's help, "There was the celebration in the alienage after you defeated the archdemon..."

"Oh yeah?" Oghren asked, bushy brow up as he grinned. The wind whipped in the open door as Neria pushed through them, Mhairi on her heels.

"Quite enticing," Zevran waggled his brow and murmured something quietly, eliciting a loud laugh from the dwarf.

Anders glanced to them, cringing at the chill from his soaked robes, "You have got to be kidding me - Neria Surana?"

"Enough!" Neria stopped, and her head twisted as her stomach turned in a peculiar way - it was different. "There are more darkspawn."

"You know these men?" Mhairi asked as the elven mage whipped out her sword.

Following the parapet, Neria stopped them in their tracks as a shrill scream echoed off the stone. They ran across the wall, coming into view of a prisoner held on his knees by a pair of darkspawn.

When the Withered turned and spoke, Neria's heart sank, "It seems that your words be true - more than you are guessing.

"It is talking!"

"That is hardly something that warrants enthusiasm," Zevran muttered, glancing to Neria as he drew his blades.

"Commander," the man on his knees choked a breath, the rusty blade at his throat pinching the skin.

"Capture the Grey Warden - the others may be killed."

"Not sodding likely!" Head down, Oghren launched at one of the hurlocks flanking them, great axe whipping through the air to crack bone.

Neria tensed as the talking darkspawn stalked towards her, the genlock at her back swiping at her legs to disable her. Losing any semblance of organization, the mage thrashed to break free, her sword clattering to the ground. Her winged helmet rolled away as the shriek at her back latched onto her ankle. Mhairi turned and stabbed the creature, eliciting a piercing scream as it let go. Gaining her bearings, Neria stumbled back over the bodies, the hiss of the darkspawn nearby.

"Come and the bloodshed can end," the Withered smacked Mhairi away, battering her with his shield to leave her unconscious on the ground.

Neria grit her teeth, the rain pattering her eyes and whipping her pale hair. Clasping the air, she summoned a rock into being, and forced it at the advancing darkspawn. The rock shattered against his shield, the splinters rolling over him to crumble away.

More darkspawn fell around them, and Zevran turned from sending one over the parapet. A shriek was impaled on his sword, the dagger following to slice its throat. Zevran pressed his lips tight, wiping the blood from his face as he hurried to Neria.

The mage caught the Withered's feet in a trap of ice, only to have the darkspawn break free with a cry. Neria whipped her dagger as they grappled, breathing sharp as she fell back, an arrow piercing her arm. Another sharp bite of pain ripped up her gut, and the world closed into darkness.

When her eyes opened again, Anders and Varel were standing over her, looking equally relieved. The mage nodded and cast another spell, his eyes fatigued as healing light warmed and suffused Neria's limbs.

"Pretty girls are always waking up to my face in the completely wrong manner," Anders murmured, offering a hand alongside the seneschal to help Neria up.

"Commander, I owe you my life," the silver-haired man said.

"And who are you?" She asked, glancing around as her people clambered to their feet.

"Forgive me - I am your seneschal, Varel, I -"

Neria pushed Varel aside as she limped to where Zevran lay, and favouring her arm, she hesitantly touched his bloodied leg.

The Antivan swore in his native tongue, before lightly laughing, "This might be the only time I beg you not to touch me, _tesaro._ "

"I'd hit you if you weren't bleeding out," Neria whispered, calling for the others before adding, "We'll get you out of the rain. It's a bad break."

"Really? I had -" Zevran groaned as he tried to move, closing his eyes to lay back and breath roughly, "- had not noticed."

Some of the surviving guards had made it to the rampart, and Neria turned to them all. Tugging three empty vials from her satchel, she pressed them into Mhairi's hands. "You, Oghren and Anders, go fill these with blood. Varel, get a pallet and help me carry Zevran inside before organizing the guards to gather our dead. Leave the darkspawn for now."

"Yes, m'lady," the seneschal bowed before moving to order.

"Fill these with blood, ser?"

"Yes," Neria said, kneeling back by Zevran's side, "Stop moving, I'll send someone for your blades."

"Do I have to go touch these... things?" Anders crossed his arms.

"Yes - you do. Or shall I see if I can rouse a templar?"

"It is usually I who deliver such things," he sighed, "In a far more entertaining manner."

"Hush," Neria said, standing up, "You have proven yourselves in combat. Gather the darkspawn blood, and you may all yet be Grey Wardens."

"Me? A Grey Warden?" Anders gawped a moment before he murmured, "I suppose that could work..."

Varel returned, and they transferred Zevran to a litter. Soon inside the Keep, Neria delicately stripped Zevran's leg down, blood dripping to the floor. As she sat and prepped the traction splint, he threw an arm over his face.

"I had forgotten the joy of being dressed down by - agh," Zevran laughed in pain, looking at the ceiling as she shushed him again, "Just do it already."

"I need to do it right."

"By all means, take your time then," he shivered and sighed, "The times I end up without my pants with you, it is never how I dream."

"Do you ever give up?" Neria asked, using the distraction to tighten the strap and draw his leg straight. Zevran clenched his teeth as she tied the loop off to the poles bracing either side of his shin. "Almost done, then I'll give you something to rest."

"No, I need to be with you, Neria."

"You cannot put weight on this, even after I heal what I can," Neria pushed him back down, rolling her eyes, "I can force you to sleep you know."

Zevran sighed, a twinge beside his eye as she finished securing the splint and flushed the wound with water. Further into the main hall, guards were gathered, sweeping through to clear out the bodies.

Applying a styptic poultice, Neria narrowed her eyes and said, "Besides, I can look after myself."

"It is hardly you I worry about."

"You let me wander off to fight with Oghren before, you've tested Mhairi yourself, and Anders..." Neria softly sighed before murmuring, "Anders is harmless."

"There have been others who tried to kill you, Neria. I did not let them close."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Neria stopped, furrowing her brow as she hesitated. Glancing down, her palm hovered over the bandaged wound, and she uttered a soft word of healing.

Zevran huffed a breath as the bones and skin partially knit together, the magic tingling through his leg, "Alistair did not think it worth the worry."

"Hmph," Shifting on her knees, Neria heated a pewter cup of water before dropping a bound cloth into it. "What else did he say?"

"Nothing for you to fret over, sweet Warden," Zevran's eyes turned up as Neria beckoned to a few guards.

"Carry him to a room to rest and inform me of where he is," Neria looked at the Antivan as he grimaced and was hoisted up, "Drink that. Please?"

Varel came through the front doors, his armour still bloodied from the fight. Approaching Neria, he crossed his arms over his chest and bowed to her, "My lady, we have preliminary reports of the casualties and survivors."

Closing her eyes, Neria wiped her hands on the exposed hem of her jerkin before joining him to walk into the courtyard.

* * *

A servant dropped the crate in her room, and Neria thanked him before shooing him out the door. The alchemic table was laid out for her as she had requested prior to her arrival, the locked room untouched by the assault. She unpacked one of the stopped flasks of thick blood, adding to it the lyrium and necessary components that sat beside the vials of darkspawn blood.

Neria smoothed her fingers down the spine of her grimoire, leaning onto the thick table with a sigh. She hadn't tried making it yet - she hadn't had the final ingredient. Nor had she expected to be doing it so soon. An Orlesian mage was supposed to be here to tutor her.

Resting the urge to crumple the page, Neria pushed off the table and kicked her pack of clothing instead. It tumbled end over end, before a stray phial inside tinked out and shattered against the wall. She looked away, seeing the glowing blue potion ooze along the floor.

"Such a waste," she whispered.

It was all such a waste. She wasn't supposed to be alone again - she wasn't supposed to be the only Grey Warden again. They'd taken away the one who would have made it through - who would have stuck by and led the assault with her.

Assembling the alembic, Neria sieved a sample of the archdemon's blood into the cucurbit, and setting the blood and lyrium in the appropriate flasks, linked up the copper tubing. Lighting the oil, she turned and sank into a chair.

Neria tugged the necklace out from under her robes, fiddling with the small pendant he had given her - a miniscule vial. It wasn't the blood that killed Daveth and Jory. It was the one he had worn from the day of his Joining.

"Why aren't you here, Alistair?"

Seeing the flame change hue and a fizzle rise through the solution, Neria rose and began the incantation needed, her eyes hazing into a glow.


	3. The Joining

"Thank you, Varel," Neria linked the set of keys onto her belt and walked with the seneschal. "I must ask you to leave, however."

"Commander?"

"I will meet with the staff in the morning. You are dismissed for the night. No one is to enter the main hall until dawn. Is that clear?" Neria looked up to him as she cracked open the wide doors, easily dwarfed by his height. Mhairi, Oghren and Anders stood by the hearth, watching her usher the man out.

"Yes, m'lady," Varel bowed and left the room.

Bolting the door, Neria drifted to the other exits and ensured the locks were set, before retrieving the chalice and walking to the waiting recruits. "And so we come to the Joining..."

"What is going to happen to us? Is - is that blood?" Anders furrowed his brow and crossed his arms.

Licking her lips, Neria inclined her head and said, "In part. I had you gather darkspawn blood for a reason. Through it, we are able to sense them, and are inexorably linked to the horde. It is our strength and our curse."

"You - you're kidding me. You want us to drink that?"

"Quiet," Mhairi hushed Anders, eyes dark, "Do not besmirch the honour you have been given in surviving to this final test."

"Sheesh, sorry."

"If sparkle fingers here is too chicken to go, give it here."

"I am not chi... sorry," Anders clamped his mouth shut.

Striving to maintain her poise, Neria sighed walked to Oghren, "Though I say not much before the Joining, these words have been spoken since the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint...

"Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten - and that one day we shall join you. Approach Oghren."

"Is this cup some sorta joke?"

"What?" Neria asked, furrowing her brow as Oghren took the chalice, "No... it - just drink, Oghren."

"Right, fine woman," Oghren tipped the chalice, smacking his lips together. Neria snagged it back as his eyes clouded over. "Not bad," Swaying, the dwarf collapsed to the ground.

"Is that it?" Anders asked, straightening his posture.

Kneeling, Neria checked Oghren's pulse before standing to offer the chalice to Anders, "You are asked to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good."

Anders regarded Neria cautiously before taking the goblet, and lifting it to his lips, drank deep of the blood within. Before he could speak, the mage put a hand to his head, staggering and collapsing to his knees.

Mhairi reached out, just barely catching the man with Neria's help, preventing him from face planting on the stone. "Is he alright?"

Oghren lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, "Thanks for the concern."

Easing Anders to the floor, Neria checked his pulse before saying, "Yes. He'll be alright."

Whitened eyes closing, Anders drew a soft screech of a breath, and it was a few moments before he roused. He stayed on the ground as Neria stood and lifted the chalice to Mhairi.

"Approach Mhairi."

Taking the goblet, Mhairi regarded the blood before saying, "Thank you for this honour." Drinking back the rest of the thick liquid, she swallowed, and as her eyes clouded, the chalice clanked to the floor.

Neria furrowed her brow, reaching for Mhairi's arm. The woman wheezed a breath, teetering as she clutched her throat and choked. Darkness fled up the veins of her neck.

"Maker's breath," Anders whispered, skirting back on the floor as Mhairi foamed at the mouth. In another second, she slumped to the ground. "Did I do that?"

Neria put the chalice down on the hearth, picking up her robes to kneel down. Touching the woman's brow, she shook her head and softly said, "I am sorry, Mhairi."

"Sorry? What, she - she's dead?"

"She is. Sometimes the price must be paid sooner or later," Neria swallowed hard, reaching to close Mhairi's wide, tainted eyes. "This is why the Joining is a secret. You can never speak to anyone, nor any recruits, about what can happen here.

"You are both Grey Wardens now. I expect you both to be worthy of the title," Neria stood up, her voice steeled but empty. "No doubt you both are tired."

"I need a drink," Oghren muttered, groaning as he pulled himself up.

"What was that I saw?" Anders asked, eyes still on Mhairi's body.

Neria moved to the chest beside the hearth, flipping the proper key up from the loop on her belt. She retrieved a shroud with the Grey Warden emblem on it from the chest and asked, "What did you see?"

"I - I was amidst darkspawn. They were doing something..."

"They are dreams of the horde - we can sense them, as they can us. You will no doubt have ... disturbing dreams in the coming weeks and months. Though I have read with the Blight over, they may not be as bad."

"As bad? Sweet Andraste..." Anders stood on shaky legs. He stared at Neria with heavy eyes, before moving, "Let me help you..."

Together they wrapped Mhairi's body in the silken shroud, the brilliant blue and white overlapping until it was wrapped tight. Fortified by her magic, Neria was able to pick up the body, despite the woman being larger than her.

Oghren touched the elf's arm to stop her, before nodding to Mhairi, "Atrast nal tunsha, warrior."

"Best you both rest. We have a sweep to do in the morning. I think we will be safe till then," Neria walked towards the back door, "I do not feel anything."

Anders hurried to unbolt and open the door, "Do you need a hand?"

"No," Neria said, "Go Rest. We rise at dawn."

Striding down the hallway, Neria's arms burned with the strain. She passed servants in the hall, mouths covered as they scrubbed the blood and gore from the stone. None spoke to her, and soon she was back in the night.

The stars were partially marred by wisps of white clouds. At the western wall, she was able to find the tower upon which the Chantry pyre stood. It was unlit and the wood rogus upon it was wet from the rain. They would not begin the processions till the morrow, when all who had died would be purified en masse.

Laying Mhairi upon the pyre, Nera awkwardly stepped back, hands trembling as she pulled a small book from her satchel. Creasing open the aged pages, she sighed and listened to the wind, looking at the wrapped body.

"Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder."

Clutching the book open to her breast, Neria cast her hand at the pyre, and with a sure word the wood caught and roared to life. The light danced bright, burning white as the silks singed and Mhairi was immolated. Her heart heavy, Neria opened the book once more, eyes down as she said, "Draw your last breath, my sister. Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, and be Forgiven."

* * *

 _The air was stagnant and the stone underfoot was cold, but somehow not uncomfortable. She could see her toes in the low light, able to make out their form and the uneven walls despite the darkness. Where the lightly glowing moss didn't grow there was a familiar ichor._

 _Neria called out, legs moving slow, as though walking through deep sand. She could hear the soft pulse of a distant song, and somehow her own heart beat in time. "Do you hear it?"_

 _The voice was nearby, an intimate whisper from a spectre unseen. It seemed smoothed by time and devoid of emotion, a polite calm negating the curiosity. There was the flap of dark feathers against her cheek, and the canon disappeared._

 _"Listen."_

 _The familiar presence of her own pulse had gone cold in her veins, any beat or meter lost - as though it had never been. It left a straining silence, a deafened ear desiring a symphony. Even the darkness strained._

* * *

Robes heavy on her limbs, Neria stalked through the castle. From the library where she had abandoned her books and cloak, down through the kitchens to scrounge for food, she banged on the dormitory to wake her fellow Wardens. It took some time before they joined her in the dining hall, where she sat sorting through orders with Varel.

"Decided to join us?"

"Andraste's knickers, are you always up this early?"

Neria didn't look up, sorting through the scrolls, "The sun has been up for an hour. I let you sleep in."

"You'll get used to it, twinkle toes."

"Why are you calling me that, dwarf? Is it supposed to be original?" Anders scratched through his stubble, "Should I call you shorty? Or smelly? Drunky might do too, or maybe just stupid."

"Ha, hah," Ogrehn was already in his armour, and his boots clanked as he approached Neria. She was speaking in hushed tones with Varel. "So what's the plan, boss?"

"I'm tempted to make you run laps."

"See? I knew she liked me more."

"You as in the both of you," Neria tossed down the quill, icy eyes tracing each of them as she stood up. Her robes were a spring green, and her belt wound high under her bosom. She clasped her hands together behind her back, "You will both oversee the disposal of all darkspawn corpses this morning. I have matters to attend to."

"Maker, are you kidding?" Anders groaned.

"The two of you can handle the bodies without risk. Get used to it. We burn any darkspawn we find." Neria ran a hand through her hair as she walked closer, softly sighing, "The remaining staff should have already gathered all the other bodies.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Report in after the midday meal."

"Willl do," Oghren turned, spinning his axe to smack the backs of Anders thighs.

"Agh," the mage turned with him, "I almost miss the Tower."

Neria closed her eyes. There were dark circles underneath them. "You said there is a prisoner in the dungeon?"

"Yes, m'lady. He was caught sneaking into the Vigil a few nights before the attack. Captain Garavel said it took four men to arrest him."

Squeezing the bridge of her nose, Neria drew in a silent breath before saying, "Tell the Captain I will meet him there shortly to deal with the man."

"Of course, Commander."

Snagging some of the scrolls, Neria tucked them under her arm, she rose, "Thank you, Varel."

Into the inner workings of the keep, Neria had to stop more than once to ask a scurrying servant for directions. Finally, she was able to find the remote room, rapping on the door before entering.

Dropping the scrolls on the ground, Neria turned as a young elven woman squeaked and skirted from the bedside. Zevran's chuckle followed and Neria covered her face as the servant hurried by, prostrate with apology.

"Just bring me a basin of water, immediately."

"Yes, m'lady, of - of course."

Neria tried to sound nonchalant, "Feeling better, Zevran?"

He cleared his voice, "I am decent, though bedridden - how will you fare without me?"

Casting a wary eye, Neria's blush lingered as she stooped to retrieve the scrolls. She left them on the dresser to go to the bed, softly saying, "Has it been weeping?"

"I do not know," Zevran said, cringing as he sat up in the bed. "Neh, I have had worse."

"Says you," Neria murmured, pulling back the covers. The door opened again and the elven servant came in, blushed and better concealed as she brought the water. "Thank you - what is your name?"

"Siough, miss."

"Thank you, Siough."

The servant curtsied and fled the room as Neria cast quick spell and heated the water. Her expression was heavy as Zevran's smirk remained, watching her prep a new set of bandages.

"What?"

"One would think you had always been a noble."

Neria wrung out the cloth as she murmured, "I am hardly a noble. How should I treat them? They are paid a wage to do their job."

"You are an arlessa, what is a noble if not that?" Zevran sucked in a breath through his teeth, pressing back against the bed. He shook the front of his loose shirt. "Can you open the window? It seems I neglected to ask ah, Siough."

"Hmph," Neria said and leant to put a hand on his brow, before opening the nearest window, "You're burning up."

"What can I say," Zevran purred, "You have always left my blood hot."

"Me, or the servant?" Neria threw the damp cloth over his face.

Zevran laughed and pulled it off, tucking an arm around the back of his head as glanced away. The mirth left his features as Neria unwrapped his leg, and an Antivan slip hurried off his tongue.

"I shouldn't have to reset the splint," Neria snagged the cloth back from him to irrigate the wound, pausing to smell it. "Stop moving."

"Of course, mistress."

Neria grumbled softly, a light colour on her cheeks as she glanced up at him. Focusing once more, her eyes fell half-lidded and she summoned creation through the wound. She sighed, "At least a week before I can modify the splint so you can walk. We don't have to keep moving, might as well rest."

"Ah," Zevran linked his fingers together over his stomach and looked out the window as Neria applied a new salve and poultice. As she bandaged it, he asked, "And what plans are there now? Do any Wardens remain?"

Neria exhaled, waiting until she had secured the bandage and sat against his hip on the bed, "I have new ones."

"Oh? Mhairi? Or am I to believe you actually made the dwarf one?"

Face ashen, Neria looked in her lap, "Mhairi has gone to the Maker. Oghren and Anders are my ...brothers now."

Zevran sighed and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. Giving it a squeeze, he let her pull away, "I am sorry, _tesaro_. As much for them as I am for Mhairi's death."

"Better them than you, right?" Neria tossed the soiled cloth into the still steaming water on the bedside table.

"Neria…"

"You don't have to say anything, Zev. I would never condemn you to this. I would never conscript you," she toyed with the tassel on her belt, before taking a small sack from her satchel, "Nor will anyone. Here, eat these."

Turning over the slivers of dried mushroom, Zevran ate them before asking, "What is it?"

"Something to help you sleep."

He choked slightly, already mid-swallow, "You are sedating me?"

"Only a bit," Neria said as she stood up, "I have to go interrogate a prisoner. The seneschal, Varel, says it took four men to bring him in."

Zevran blinked lengthily, smacking his lips at the thickened feeling, and his voice reflected his heavy eyes, "Of course, my minx drugs me and tells me... she's off to endanger herself, taking all the fun... Alistair... would not be pleased…"

Neria flapped the blanket back over Zevran, expression hardening as she flushed and whispered, "Yes, well he's not here, is he?"

* * *

"Good men and women died while you were safe in here!"

"What is that supposed to do?" The man in the cell lifted his head to Captain Garavel, "My presence here is coincidence – I arrived before the monsters did."

"You may go, Captain."

"Yes, m'lady," Garavel crossed his arms over his chest and bowed, before marching up the stairs.

Neria crossed her arms and lifted her chin as she regarded the human man in the back of the cell. It was a moment before she said, "Have you been given food and water?"

"I have," he replied, eyes upon her as he pulled to his feet. "Well if it isn't the great hero, my father's murderer."

Unfolding her arms, Neria furrowed her brow and said, "What?"

"Aren't you supposed to be ten feet tall? Able to conjure a winter's storm at your finger tips?"

Neria wrinkled her nose and rubbed her fingers together before saying, "I don't usually put on shows for anyone, let alone criminals. Aren't you cold enough in there?"

The man scoffed, and they crossed their arms at the same time, looking each other down, "A criminal? I only wished to claim what is rightly mine."

"Who are you? And who do you think I killed?" she quietly asked.

"I do not need to think it, the fact that you killed my father is common knowledge. I am Nathaniel Howe... and now his murderer has taken from me my land and home."

Looking up to the man, Neria paled before she quietly said, "Your father did terrible things. He plotted, tortured and killed more people than I know."

"And your hands are so clean?"

"No," Neria looked away, crossing her arms again. Nathaniel scoffed, leaning an arm up against the bars as he looked down at her. "Far from it. Am I why you came here, then? To kill me?"

"I," Nathaniel sighed, and the ire sullied his voice as he watched the elf, "I did - what would you have done? This was the only home I knew in Ferelden."

"Many people have suffered great loss because of the Blight. They have lost their loved ones, their friends, their lands and more."

"And then there's you. Arlessa and General, loved and revered by all, they even seem to have amended the laws that have stood for countless years - the Queen countered the Chantry for you, didn't she?" Nathaniel pushed off the bars, glaring at her, "A mage and an elf as one of the most powerful nobles in the country."

Neria moved to speak but clamped her mouth shut, meeting his hard gaze. She closed her eyes and uncrossed her arms, feeling a throb at her temple. "What do you think I should do with you?"

"Well," Nathaniel came by the bars again as he paced, sizing her up, "I did come here to kill you. If you let me go, who knows if you'll catch me the next time."

Tightening her hand into a fist at her side, Neria tempered her words, "It sounds like you can fight rather well."

"I wasn't farming in the Free Marches."

"Then you're going to be a Grey Warden. Think of it as a way you can redeem your family's name."

Nathaniel stopped, "You really want someone who wanted you dead fighting alongside you?"

Neria smirked as she kept her eyes down and said, "Some of my best friends have wanted me dead."


	4. Cumberland & Fealty

Trudging down the gangplank on rubber legs, Alistair adjusted the hefty rucksack thrown over his shoulder. He swayed a little, and the sailors passed them by with a smirk. Leonie kept a casual pace by his side, raising a hand to the crew.

"Maker, will the ground ever stop moving?"

"It may take a day," Leonie said with a chuckle, tossing her hair over her shoulder to braid and secure it with a practised motion.

Alistair had to stop a moment, and he rested a hand on a bollard to suck in a thick breath of the air. A sticky cough followed and he shook his head, turning to look up the canal at the first set of locks on the river. The streets from the wharf wove up the cliffs to where the city fortifications were, beyond which the glittering gold tower that was the Circle of Magi hovered like a beacon above all the rest.

"Something else, no?" Leonie followed his gaze, "I have only been here a handful of times. It should be interesting - the College convenes in the coming weeks. There are great festivities - you will find Cumberland more comfortable with magic in public."

"Oh?"

"Come, we may speak more at the compound."

Alistair kept on Leonie's heels as they wove into the city proper, and more than once he hesitated, the familiar weakness of magic edging in on his templar training. When he paused too long upon a bridge, the lieutenant turned to him.

"What is it, Alistair?"

Glancing back at a cluster of individuals moving hastily to a shop, he followed Leonie once more and spoke close to her, "There are mages in the street."

The woman's lip quirked as she said, "The College is meeting. Mages from all over Thedas are coming to Cumberland. A pity your sister could not come, non?" Leonie diverted them along a wall, avoiding a scuffle between a group of street urchins.

"My sister?"

"Neria?"

"Oh. Right... yes," Alistair quietly said, shaking something unmentionable from his boot as they ducked through a gate. Leonie rapped on the door within the portcullis, expression clear of emotion as he asked, "Where are we?"'

"Where do you think?" Leonie smirked as the door opened, and she exchanged words in her native tongue with the doorman. She produced a token clipped to her belt in proof, and they were let in. The warmth of sweat and roast meat hit their senses, the salty smells of the sea left in the streets. "Keep the token I gave you. The deeper inland we go, the less will know the Ferelden tongue. Not all, but some are wary of those who might feign to be Wardens."

"There are those who pretend? Whatever for?" he quietly asked.

"Food. Theft. Whatever _les fous_ imagine."

A buttered woman's voice echoed from an adjacent chamber in a tongue Alistair was unable to pinpoint, and Leonie's head turned.

"Anne-Laure, _que faites-vous donc ici_?"

A heavy curtain was drawn, revealing a doorway that a short woman with soft curves emerged through, " _De toi_."

Leonie's eyes lit with a certain mischief as she clasped the small woman's hands and leant to kiss each of her cheeks, " _Bien sur_ , _ahhh_ _ma petite pois_."

Alistair cleared his thoat, the bridge of his nose wrinkling as he looked away.

" _J'aime excuse_ , Alistair... this is our _soeur_ Anne-Laure Moulis," Leonia smiled uncharacteristically, "A mage from the chapter in Val Royeaux. _Cherie_ , this is Alistair - one of the Blight Wardens from Ferelden."

Anne-Laure extended her hand palm down, "Just Anne-Laure, _s'il vous pla_ _î_ _t_. And, ah, excuse please my tongue."

"I thought I felt something," Alistair shook her hand obtrusively. "Your tongue?"

Powdery skin flushing red, Anne-Laure shook her strawberry blond plaits over her shoulder as she looked to Leonie.

"She does not speak your language very well. It is something you will have to grow accustomed to with many."

Twining her fingers in a beaded necklace, Anne-Laure turned her head aside, speaking in hurried, hushed tones, the Orlesian language weaving together with silken platitude.

" _Pas maintenant_ ," Leonie clipped before holding back the curtain for Alistair, "My Commander had said a mage would meet us, but I had not expected a close friend. It is a pleasant surprise."

"I can imagine," Alistair said, glancing away from the peculiar stare Anne-Laure gave him.

"Let us find the kitchens - and some real food."

"There's something I can understand," murmured Alistair.

In the antechamber, Anne-Laure helped Leonie unclasp her armour, chattering away at a subdued volume. The lieutenant's replies were terse and quick, and more than once she laughed. Alistair tried to find some place to focus his eyes as he haphazardly pulled through his own armour, finally able to smile at an elven servant who ducked in to retrieve the suit.

"Thank you," he quietly said. The elf pressed her lips into a line, before merely dipping her head as she hauled up the cloth, metal clanking within.

There was a clash of voices in the common room, and when Alistair entered on Leonie's heels, a bearded man at one of the oaken tables rapped his tankard to quiet the chatter.

He stood up to speak, "And here comes my kin. Let us save you from our common enemy," The men in the room laughed - they were all men, in fact. Snagging another tankard of ale, the man strode up to Alistair, "Welcome, brother. Have you survived the Orlesians?"

Alistair laughed awkwardly as he took the ale, gulping a mouthful before saying, "I'm not sure how I should respond. Would I survive the night?"

Anne-Laure strummed her fingers along her upper arm, a wisp of fire off her finger. The action was met by the man's smirk, and he spat a quick retort in the woman's native tongue.

" _Quelle dommage_ , the cut of your chin tells me you're Ferelden - but then, so does the smell," Leonie said as she retied her hair back from her face.

"Indeed I am, well, not so much anymore," Shaking Alistair's hand with his free one, the man said, "Brant. I grew up in Lothering."

"Ah, I - I am sorry to hear that, it.. well..."

"There is no need," Brant's expression sobered, showing Alistair to the table he'd been at, "We have all heard of the great toll the Blight took on the land. I saw it in my dreams."

"Leonie mentioned something about that - admittedly, she doesn't say much that helps," Alistair protruded a thick bottom lip, watching Leonie isolate herself with Anne-Laure. They were the only women in the room.

"Help yourself," Brant said, motioning to the food on the table, "Anne-Laure has a temper that does not suite how loose her tongue can be. You are going to Weisshaupt?"

Alistair mopped a thick slice of bread in the bowl of steaming soup he ladled for himself, "Yes. Seems I have some explaining to do."

"We have all heard about the great Hero of Ferelden," Brant smiled, his front teeth overlapping slightly. "That she still lives. Are they so angry at you for stopping the Blight?"

"For surviving it, more like it."

"Mm," Brant drank deep, finishing his ale as he ruminated. Focused on some distant point, he finally looked down and said, "It seems unfair to question someone who has more experience with a Blight than any of us."

"Maybe you should tell them that?" Alistair smirked before lifting the bowl to his lips. "Honestly, I don't know what they expect from me."

"The First Warden so rarely takes a direct hand in matters outside of the Anderfels. It is curious," A slender man with rusty hair leaned across the table, "The archdemon is dead, we all know it. Isn't that what matters?"

"The darkspawn aren't going underground, Isane."

"It's barely been half a year. Do not all the tales say that hunting Dumat last a century? And they defeat Urthemiel in less than a year. It is reasonable to think problems from a Blight will linger. "

"I appreciate that," Alistair said, examining one of the dishes, "And it was two centuries."

"See?"

"Lentils," Brant said, "Try them, they're better than they look. And filling."  
"Hmm."

Isane crossed an ankle over his knee, "I wouldn't have come."

"Yes well, I guess we're stuck with you either way?"

Rolling his eyes, Isane made a lewd gesture, followed with a profanity in his Nevarran tongue.

"Maybe Anne-Laure will do that for you?"

The tips of Alistair's ears flushed, his expression dubious as he tried the legumes. He tore more bread to slowly eat as Brant and Isane laughed.

"History is only so good as the man whose quill keeps record," Isane said, crossing his arms as he leant back in the chair, regarding Alistair before he got up, "The Chantry tries to tell us so much, who knows what is true. You did right by the Wardens."

The other man at the table watched Isane go, the movement revealing his elven ears.

"I probably shouldn't tell him I was almost a templar, huh?"

"He's new," Brant said with a grin.

"That's what I kept trying to tell people," murmured Alistair.

"I bet," he laughed, going to refill his and Alistair's tankards before sitting again. "How about I show you the city in the morning? Have you ever been to Cumberland?"

"I never left Ferelden before hopping on that ship," he said, cheeks flushed from the drink.

"Hah," Brant's eyes glinted darkly, "Right perfect then."

* * *

Neria sat by the fire in the kitchen, staring blankly at the wall. The hearth was all but empty, with only scant embers remaining. It was a while before her eyes turned down to the open journal in her lap. Even fatigued, she found some solace in drawing - the book was half full of them. She had slowly been detailing what her life had been – it seemed less horrific on parchment than in her mind.

"Who is that?"

Smacking her knee on the crate beside her, Neria cursed and almost got to her feet. The book fell to the floor, and Nathaniel had snagged it before she could recover. Neria extended her hand, "Thank you, I can be so clumsy."

Nathaniel looked at her over the book as he flipped through it.

"Excuse me," Neria furrowed her brow.

"Chronicling your adventures? I hadn't pictured you to be one to lust for glory."

Nathaniel pulled the book away as Neria reached for it, and she blushed. "I enjoy drawing, is there a problem with that?"

"No," he quietly said, expression still severe as his eyes moved over the page.

"Are you not tired from today?" Neria said, crossing her arms to hug her heavy woollen robes closer as she sat back down. She had led the trio into the basements for a second day to eradiate the undead and darkspawn that clogged the ancient rooms. "Or have you come to finish the job as it were?"

Nathaniel looked at the page again, before closing the book and setting it on the table. He sat on the bench opposite her as he said, "It's the dreams. I did not imagine they would be so…"

"Real," she finished, slipping the journal from sight.

"Yes," he emptily replied. He put another log on the fire. "Growing up, I used to come here when I couldn't sleep. There was almost always someone awake here. I keep thinking Adria will be here."

Neria watched the wood struggle to catch before she said, "During the Blight, we returned to Kinloch Hold – there had been an uprising in the Tower, and it was overrun with demons. Most of the people I grew up with had become abominations or died. Or both."

"I know you have been through hardship, Commander. I am rarely in a mood to posture."

"I am not trying to impress you," Neria snapped, smacking her feet on the ground to stand. "I was trying to say that I know what it's like to have your home ransacked and your kin killed. That I know how hard it must be for you to see Vigil's Keep in trouble, bloody men."

"Ah," Nathaniel said, looking down to his hands.

Dropping her hands at her sides, Neria closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose. Finally, she sat back down, and when the dry wood cracked and the room glowed with light she said, "The picture you saw was of my mabari, Ualan, and our fellow Warden Alistair. It was supposed to be in the mountains."

"I haven't seen your mabari about the grounds, he might be the most well-trained one around."

"You will not see him," Neria said, her voice straining as it lost its depth, "He gave his life fighting the archdemon."

"I am sorry."

Neria swallowed her tongue before lightly saying, "It is hardly your fault."

An uncomfortable silence followed before Nathaniel said, "I was not coming to kill you."

"Well. That's a relief," Neria murmured, "I am gathering what is needed for a trip to the city soon. I'd appreciate your cooperation, as you know it and the lands better than I."

Nathaniel nodded, elbows resting on his knees, "It has changed a great deal. I did not stay there long after my ship landed."

"Perhaps we will try to find your sister, as well," Neria ran a hand through her pale hair, sweeping it away from her face as she stood.

"I would appreciate that a great deal," Nathaniel inclined his head, leaning back against the wall as he watched her and asked, "May I ask why you were up, Commander?"

Neria snagged a biscuit from a nearby basket as she paused, "Dreams."

"Do you dream of the darkspawn still?"

The memory of the cold heart and intimate whisper stayed her feet, and Neria glanced away. It had come again, the dead flesh, the stagnant air of the underground that reminded her too much of the Deep Roads. She could not recall what had been said, but it was not right. It was not a memory or a dream, an echo or a piece of time – it was a private conversation.

"Yes," she whispered, "The darkspawn. But still, we must try to rest."

"Of course," Nathaniel said, unawares as she made for the door.

The dreams had not let her be since they had met the talking darkspawn atop the Keep – the Withered, it had called itself. No matter the clouded memories of the archdemon's death, Neria could not shake the idea that her choice – her selfishness in forcing Alistair into Morrigan's arms – was causing this all to happen. Her head hung heavy as she took the stairs.

And he wasn't there to assuage her guilt or convince her otherwise. To distract her, to make her smile. She could not speak of it to anyone.

Neria closed her eyes, stopping by Zevran's door with a sigh. Hanging her head, she turned away and disappeared into the master bedroom, locking the door behind her.

Nathaniel lingered in the shadows, and silently crossed his arms.

* * *

"Maker's breath, Varel, why did you not warn me about this?" Neria put a hand on the changing screen, closing her eyes as the servant cinched the bodice. The robes had come from the queen - they were practically a gown.

"I am sorry, Commander. I was certain I mentioned it. The arrival of Queen Anora seems more than coincidental, as well. A contingent of her soldiers camps on the plain."

"They come late, but they come none the less. All the more to make her look good," Neria whispered something quietly to the elven woman with her, and the servant's eyes sparkled. "This delays my trip to Amaranthine. Everyone keeps telling me how much the city needs me, but now it is put off for pomp and fanfare."

"The landholders must pledge their fealty to you, my lady," Varel clasped his hands together behind his back, looking up, "The arling has been in great turmoil since before the civil war, they will have concerns to bring to you. We must find out who is still loyal to the Howe line - there are rumours abound."

"I'm tempted to order Nathaniel to come, really ruffle their feathers."

Varel drew a breath, shifting his feet as he glanced towards the changing screen, "It might be wise to include him - if he would speak for your causes and not undermine the position of the Wardens here."

"This is just ridiculous," Neria sighed, thanking the servant and sweeping into view, "The lands and people are suffering, the keep is barely holding together, and I am expected to play hostess and mingle and laugh. Well?"

"They might forget your prowess on the battlefield," Varel chuckled and reached to check a sash securing her robes. "This is worn as such, however."

Neria pulled the decorative sash around as she quietly said, "And how do you know?"

"It is my duty to know," he checked the knot, before stepping back respectfully.

"Yes, but you told me you were only seneschal for the Howe's for a short while," Neria centred the pendant she wore, fingers lingering over the nearly-black hue of the fluid within. "Are you married? I am deeply sorry, I have asked so little about you."

"There is much on your mind, Commander," Varel tactfully replied, motioning to the door as she swept her hair back over her ears. "No matter where we were, Abigail always looked her best. She had rheumatic troubles, and I helped her a great deal."

"From how you speak, it sounds as though she is no longer with us."

"No," Varel quietly said, his eyes down, "She was slain during the Blight. As were our sons."

The few servants of the keep were in a frenzy preparing for the afternoon ceremony and evening soiree. The queen had arrived at the break of dawn with a contingent of soldiers, seeking to aide the troubled keep. She had promised two troops to remain and help patrol the lands, and planned to return to Denerim after the vassals pledged fealty to the Warden-Commander.

Neria hesitated on the landing and touched Varel's arm, "I am sorry for the loss."

"I am not the only one who lost kin, m'lady, I hold no illusions around it."

"The suffering of others does not negate one's own difficulties," she walked slowly on the delicate slippers. "Thank you for all the help you've given. I couldn't do this without you."

Varel inclined his head as Neria turned towards the barracks. Surprisingly, the bunks were empty, and she did her best to hurry through the kitchen and rooms designated as common space. She soon slipped into the courtyard, where Oghren and Nathaniels were training.

"Well lookee," Oghren's axe swung to chink into the ground, and he thumbed his chin as he walked over. Large shadows fell across the yard, the sun not yet above the wall. "Cleaned up like that, people might start thinking you were a lady or something."

"Can't have that, should I belch or fart perhaps? Or wait, I'll just bring you."

The dwarf laughed and crossed his arms, appraising her again. He nodded a few times before saying, "Fandangled party, huh?

"Something like that. Though we should be killing darkspawn."

"There's the girl I know," Oghren chuckled again and smacked his lips, "Dressed like that, talking about violence, it gets a motor going. Pity I don't have a thing for elves."

"Always breaking my heart," Neria muttered, trying to find a place to rest her hands.

"Yeah, that's what the ladies say. There's only so much Oghren to go around, hard to accommodate everyone."

Neria's fatigued expression cracked into a grin, and she closed her eyes, flushing rose as she shook her head, "Clean up if you're going to come? And try not to vomit on anyone's shoes?"

"Always so sodding demanding."

Arms crossed, Neria meandered closer to where Nathaniel drew a bow taut. It was one she had given him - her cache of weaponry from Denerim had somehow made it a few days behind her. The curved ironwood held the line taut, and it snapped with a thwick as the arrow flew.

"We are not leaving for Amaranthine, I take it?"

"No," Neria quietly said, "I apologize. Varel is quite insistent about this formality."

"Who are we to say no to the Queen?" Nathaniel nocked another arrow without looking at her, and it sailed over the range to hit beside its brother on the target.

"I won't mince words," Neria inhaled as she spoke, "The Howe name still has resonance with many of the landholders. I would appreciate your presence there. It might prevent future incident and ease things for us as the new lords of the arling."

"Us?" Nathaniel scoffed, and his arms relaxed as he looked at her.

"The Wardens, Nathaniel." Neria bristled slightly, and she tucked her pale hair behind her ear as she stood to her full height. She was still looking at his chin. "I expect you there in proper attire, I wanted to request it but if you need an order to get over yourself, by all means."

"As you wish, Commander," Nathaniel stressed the title, "I will be there in my finest."

Neria sighed and closed her eyes. She felt dizzy from the garment, she couldn't breath right. Maker, who would have imagined she'd be pining for her armour? "Have you seen Anders?"

"Hiding from the templars," Nathaniel murmured, letting go of another arrow. "They came with the queen."

Resting her hands on her hips, Neria quietly said, "Lovely. Just what I need."

"I thought you woulda liked them templars a lot," Oghren sniggered as he watched the elf.

"Hmph," Neria turned and almost tripped in her heels, "Sweet Andraste, why do women do this? Nathaniel, please be ready by midday."

Nathaniel relaxed his arms and shouldered his bow, watching her go before he said, "She's a mage, dwarf. Or perhaps you didn't know templars hunt mages?"

"Yeah, but Alistair was practically a templar."

"The other Blight Warden?"

Ogrehn casually strode away with the axe over his shoulder, "Uh huh."

* * *

"How is it feeling?"

Smirking as he leant on the cane, Zevran's eyes sparkled, "It is fine, attend to your guests, signora."

Neria appraised the modified splint before granting him a reprimanding gaze, "Go easy on it."

"Of course," Zevran inclined his head.

"And use the cane, or you're back in bed."

"I would not dream otherwise."

Watching him still, Neria touched his arm, "I have missed your company."

"And I yours," Zevran's expression softened, "No matter how I may enjoy the close company of certain servants. I shall be here to watch your back – for trouble, of course."

Neria's cheeks flushed rose and she shook her head, before turning into the crowd to mingle with the banns and knights, a head shorter than any of them. They were more relaxed now, the stuffy formality of the swearing in behind them. The afternoon had been warmer than expected, and it was a relief to have the doors flung open to allow the spring air to flow through the keep.

Varel hovered over her shoulder, "Bann Glennis."

Flashing a veneered smile, Neria inclined her head to the older woman, "Bann Glennis, it is good of you to stay."

The woman curtsied, some of her greyed curls slipping over her shoulder, "It is an honour to have you as our leader, m'lady."

They engaged in small talk about the bann's lands for a short time before the woman grew bold.

"Are you married?"

Neria's cheeks warmed a rose as she tried to maintain her smile, "I – no, I am not."

"I have a son that would suit you well – quite capable of handling a sword and protecting a wife. The sooner you produce an heir, the better off Amaranthine will be."

Neria exchanged glances with Varel as she tried to speak, "I – "

"The Arl will change with the leader of the Wardens, m'lady – an heir is much less a concern."

Bann Glennis seemed unfazed, touching Neria's arm, "None the less, something to consider. A woman like you all alone in this drafty place."

Neria excused herself to drift and find a glass of wine, the apples of her cheeks reddened as she whispered to Varel, "Do they know nothing of me at all?"

"I apologize, Commander. I have done my best to impress that you are Warden-Commander equally as much as their liege," Varel sighed, hands still clasped behind his back as his eyes roamed the room. The air was filled with civil chatter and light laughter, mingled with the light music from minstrels on the far side of the room. "Bann Glennis is… aging."

"To say the least," Neria sighed, smiling again as another noble approached and bent to kiss her hand. They made their way to her after paying respects to the queen, who could not be seen for the cluster of individuals and guards around her.

Across the room, Anders escaped from his place along the wall to refill his goblet, only to be accosted by and introduced to a knight.

"So you are a Grey Warden?"

Anders flashed a smile, strumming his fingers on the goblet of wine in his hand as he leant close to the lady knight, "I am indeed - in fact I helped defend the keep itself. Quite heroic, I might add."

"That is odd, you look like a mage or something," The woman laughed, "Do they make you wear those robes?"

Expression dubious, Anders said, "No… I thought these were nice. And I am a mage."

The knight furrowed her brow, stiffening in her dress, "I see. I had thought the Warden-Commander was the only one that had permission to be here."

Oblivious, Anders smiled lackadaisically, "Nope. Seems my capabilities are just what is needed to help defend Amaranthine from the darkspawn and other such horrors."

"There!"

Anders head turned at a familiar voice, only to find his arms caught in a metallic grip, "Hey!"

"Quiet, mage."

"Ser Rylock, what a –" Anders twinged in the templar's embrace, bending to accommodate how they twisted him, "-lovely surprise!"

"Bite your tongue, you have caused enough trouble," Ser Rylock said, brow heavy as she glared at him, "This is the last time – I will see you hanged for the men that died trying to subdue you."

"What? The darkspawn killed them – ow, is that really necessary?" Anders was forced down to his knees, drawing attention from the surrounding nobles. "I am a Grey Warden now, you can't just treat me like a sack of grain."

"You should be so grateful, when I'm done with you –" Rylock motioned and Anders was hauled up to his feet under protest.

"Excuse me, what cause do you have for apprehending one of my men?"

Ser Rylock bristled and looked down at Neria, "This man is a wanted apostate, he killed a number of templars in order to avoid capture."

"Killed them? The darkspawn killed them and so many more," Anders pleaded, finally succeeding in pulling free from the helmeted templars.

"Beyond that, this man is a Grey Warden, conscripted by the right granted my position by the Crown," Neria said, her arms crossed to stand her ground. "The Chantry has no place trespassing to remove soldiers from our order."

"Says the mage," Ser Rylock shook her head, rolling a shoulder. The magic between them was palpable. "That you have gained such a station is insult enough."

"If you would like, I can invite the Queen to join us if you need verification?" Neria raised her brow, motioning through the crowd. The hall had fallen silent, and Anora's eyes were already upon them. "Or I could be rid of all my brethren and leave Amaranthine to the darkspawn? Perhaps that would be preferable for the Chantry?"

Smouldering, Ser Rylock stared her down, before ordering her men out. The nobles parted to allow them an escape along the wall, their armour the only noise. All eyes turned back to Neria, who pushed her shoulders back and glanced to the Queen.

Anora flashed a calculated smile and raised a glass, speaking over them all, "A fine evening – a toast to our gracious hostess. May the Hero continue to defend our lands and free us all from the darkness that threatens!"

Neria formally bowed as the sentiment echoed through the rest of the room, the tension broken. Conversation surged back as the servants drifted to refill glasses and offer food.

Sighing heartily, Anders smoothed a hand back through his hair, "Thanks, Neria."

Icy blue eyes turning to her fellow mage, Neria said under her breath, "If they were allowed to take you, who is to say they would not come for me next?"


	5. Collusion

_The cold was comforting - wasn't it always? But now... now it was merely normality._

 _She tried to open her eyes, but they were sluggish, heavy and barely able to see through her pale lashes. If she were so tired, why didn't she sleep? Why was she here..._

 _"There is no need for this."_

 _The fleshy, red walls came into view, like living muscle and tissue worming along the stone - consuming it. It had a tempo of its own, writhing and pulsating. It was so vibrant compared to the chill within, if only she could see. Could she see?_

 _The voice descended down her spine, "We are outsiders, yet we both follow a path to save those who have spurned us. In this, I am never your enemy."_

 _She turned again, sluggish through the passage, unable to escape the sickening pulse. It brought with it a panic, an anger, a screaming rage that could not find purchase on needed lips._

 _"You want to protect them from themselves. That is what I seek for my brethren - they do not know what I do, they cannot see its value."_

 _The darkness was coming close, swaddling for her limbs and mind, as true an embrace as the earth. Her eyes were closed, yet she could see the world in shadows, shapes that lacked focus. She could hear her slowing breaths, rasped and soft._

 _"They do not see what you give them, but you strive none the less. As do I."_

Waking in a cold sweat, Neria trembled and reached across her bed. Jerking with the subtle shaking, she flattened her face into the pillow and muffled a choked denial. There was no beast to wuff and lick her cheek, no man beside her - no warmth in the bed save her own feverish skin.

"They are but dreams," Neria whispered. Someone had to say it, could she not hear his voice by her ear?

Her pulse thrummed in her chest, vibrating in her veins as she rolled to look at ceiling. She wished more than anything that she could convince herself it was the Fade. Even before becoming a Grey Warden, the dreamscape had granted her a unique perspective. But this was different.

* * *

Alistair tried to keep his footsteps steady as they swayed back through the streets. Brant walked with a certain flair, his inebriated state seeming to meld suitably with his movements.

"That was certainly something else," he murmured.

Brant laughed, "You enjoyed it. Come on man, what kind of girl are you?"

"I was raised in the Chantry, it ish hardly my fault."

"Mm," Brant smoothly said, "A likely story."

"Shipped off when I was a boy. I was almost a templar, you know," Alistair wagged a hand. "Maker, the ground looks close."

Brant caught him and grinned, "You drank so little, and look at you! Did Neria not let you drink back in Ferelden?"

"Neria? I think I can drink more than her. Not the dwarf, though."

"A dwarf," Brant's eyes sparkled, "I wouldn't even try. Those I've met don't seem fazed by even the strongest of ales."

"Ours was a perpetshual drunk. I can agree, there was no keeping up," Alistair's expression darkened, and they walked a few more paces, a break in the city buildings allowing the moonlight through. His nose and cheeks were pink. "She was even funnier when she was drunk."

"You've said she has quite the biting tongue, eh?" Brant nudged Alistair and laughed at his expression. "She's an elf, she must be something else."

"Well…" Alistair drew a deep breath, drawing himself up to rest his hands on his belt.

"And a mage too – bet she was fiery in the sack."

"Wh-what? I," Alistair half-pouted, drawing another laugh from Brant, "Excuse me if I don't talk about it."

"I bet you get eaten alive."

"Mph," Alistair shook his head, "I've made it this far."

"Too true," Brant snickered, when suddenly something caught his eye, and his expression went blank. They were still a quarter away from the compound. When he drew his blade, Alistair followed suit – and not a moment too soon.

A dagger clinked into Alistair's mail at the small of his back, forcing him forward and bruising deep. Steadying his shield, he spun and sliced his assailant across the chest, cutting deep into the leather armour. The man cursed in a familiar accent, before darting side ways. Another attacker kicked the backs of Alistair's knees, and he stumbled through them.

Meanwhile, Brant climbed a barrel and leapt to hoist himself atop the nearest house, tracking an archer. His dagger found the woman's throat, and she toppled down the shingles. Blinking in the darkness, he swung back down on top of another of the attackers.

Rapidly sobering, Alistair found another two men with his sword, spilling their blood on the cobbles. Soon enough, it was just the panicked breath of the man Brant had pinned to the ground.

"How stupid do you have to be, we are Grey Wardens," Brant snapped in Nevarran. "Speak up!"

"The Crows send their regards," the man replied in the same tongue, spitting on Brant's leathers.

"Who are they?" Alistair asked, leaning a hand on the barrel.

Brant furrowed his brow and slashed the assassin's throat before standing and murmuring, "Crows."

Alistair heavily sighed, hanging his head, "I – I'm sorry."

"What? Why?" Brant cleaned his blades before sliding them in the sheath, kicking the assassin into the shadows.

"They were after me, I imagine...Maker's breath, how have they tracked me?"

Darkly smirking, Brant said, "You hold yet more surprises. A templar hero who is hunted by assassins? Now I really don't believe that you're some innocent Chantry boy. But at least you're sober?"

"Aren't I lucky," Alistair murmured.

Back in the quiet of the compound, Brant and Alistair sat to sharpen and clean their weapons. Brant finished and tossed his scabbards aside, sighing as he sunk in the seat. Alistair continued meticulously, wiping down the blade, handle, and bindings of his sword with an oiled cloth. There was intricate etching on the ricasso, obscured by the enchanted chill that seeped from the metal. Neria had commissioned it for him.

"There was a request that came in this morning - I had been meaning to ask you about it," Brant said, crossing his ankle over his knee. "Trouble at the Pentaghast necropolis."

"Sorry?" Alistair looked up with a start, scrunching and stowing the cloth as he carefully sheathed the longsword.

Brant drew a breath, thumbing a split in the leather of his boot, "A report of a darkspawn incursion, though I do not know of the validity. It is to the north - on your path, honestly. There isn't a more qualified person to deal with it in the country."

Alistair dryly laughed, slumping into his chair, "If you say so."

His dark brow moving expressively, Brant said, "So you'd be willing to join me in going there?"

"Part of me wonders if I should ask Leonie and Anne-Laure."

Brant flashed a quick grin as he said, "Probably best to just inform them of the decision."

"Yes, like she's done for most everything," Alistair frowned. "We'll help, undoubtedly."

"She is Orlesian, I don't think she can help it."

"I knew a very respectable Orlesian... admittedly her mother was from Ferelden," Alistair threw a bit of something at the fire.

"You cannot blame them, it is the only way they can get good people - to steal them from other nations."

"Hah, right."

* * *

Neria stood on the battlements looking at the ocean, her arms crossed and her hair whipping in the wind that blew up. It was salty and fresh, full of kelp and the fishy scents from the mongers on the wharf far below. By her side Oghren and Anders stood equally awed, watching the foam through the fog, and the waves crash orange as the sun dipped closer to setting.

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of seeing the ocean."

"You're telling me," Oghren murmured, glancing up at her before grumbling, "It's terrifying, that's what it is. All washy and moving and fluid - it's not right."

"When we were in Denerim, Alistair and I would..." Neria's voice faded away and her posture went rigid. Bits of her hair caught on her lips, freewheeling in the wind.

"What's that?" Anders asked, scrunching his nose at the damp chill.

They went to the seaside any day they could after the Blight - to throw rocks in the water, to feed crumbs to the gulls, or just soak up the sun and listen to the waves. It hadn't mattered how cold it was. He had kissed her as it snowed, whispering to make her blush.

Neria furrowed her brow, "The messenger should have been here by now."

Anders let it slide, "I swear, Neria - I know what I heard."

The elven mage closed her eyes, expression a blank slate. At the fealty ceremony, a lady knight had approached her with word of a conspiracy - something reflected when Anders mentioned a conversation he overheard. Not even the arlessa a month.

"How have I grown so proficient at people wanting me dead?"

"I don't know about you," Anders mused, "But I've always sort of imagined people wanted me dead. Don't they want most mages dead?"

Neria turned around to look over the city, and her expression cleared as she nodded, "There's Nathaniel."

Back down in the streets, they met up with the Howe, whose disposition was considerably clearer since spending the day with his sister.

"Well?" Neria asked as they made their way to the house maintained for the arl.

"I don't know what to think anymore. But… at least Delilah is happy," Nathaniel almost smiled, "At least there is that."

"Good," she said, expression relaxing.

"She said father had become a monster. The terrible things…"

"You weren't here," Neria quietly said, speaking below the boisterous conversation of Anders and Oghren behind them, "You couldn't know."

"It still doesn't feel right," Nathaniel turned his head in the growing shadows, darting with decisive speed to catch the hand of a man. Rolling to press him against the wall, he forced the pickpocket to drop the coin purse. "Not the wisest thing to be stealing from your arlessa."

"P-please, I didn't know! I need to eat," The man stumbled as Nathaniel's dagger prodded his stomach. "Things are bad, I cannot find work."

Neria stooped to retrieve her coins, slipping them in a less conspicuous pouch. She furrowed her brow at the familiarity of the voice, and lit the lamp beside them, "What is your name, come into the light."

"J-Jamieson, m'lady."

When Nathaniel pulled the would-be thief into the lamplight, Neria paled. Drawing her dagger, magical energy climbed her limbs and she slammed the man back against the wall. Anders and Oghren turned with a start.

"You, I know you," her voice shook as she edged the dagger up under his chin. It shaved the stubble and nicked in, and a rivulet of blood descended his throat.

"Commander, he did no harm," Nathaniel said, taken aback.

Neria's white hair glowed yellow in the lamplight, an aura of light around her face as bore into the man's eyes, "And you know me."

"I…" The man's expression crumpled with recognition, eyes widening to the whites. The dagger pinched at his skin, and Jamieson closed his eyes, "M'lady, I was under orders, please!"

"Neria?" Anders asked, touching her arm.

"Get your hands off me," Neria turned on the words, striking Anders with the handle of her dagger.

"Andraste's blood!" He stumbled back and clutched his nose as it gushed blood. For once, Oghren didn't laugh, and Nathaniel's eyes darted from the bloody man to Neria as she pinned the thief to the wall again. Anders sputtered, "What in the Maker's name!"

"I – I know you are the Hero, please, have mercy!"

"No," she whispered, hard lines on her face. Neria jerked her wrist, stabbing him in the gut and disembowelling him with a flick of the wrist, "None of you would grant it."

Gurgling in surprise, the blood spilt wide and warm as the man dropped.

Neria stood there, eyes dilated wide as she watched him die. Steadying his hands, Anders calmed his breath, and a rejuvenating light suffused over his features, partially setting the break and stopping the bleeding. He daintily pulled a cloth from his satchel, wiping off his hands and face before dejectedly looking at his robes.

"Come on," Oghren said, keeping his distance from her, "Let's find that house, I've got some good stuff on me."

"No," she said, still blankly staring at the ground. Not bothering to clean her blade, she slipped it into the flat sheath at the small of her back. "We leave for the Vigil tonight."

They marched out of the gates of Amaranthine as the sun dipped below the horizon, Neria forcing a quick pace despite her size. Oghren struggled silently, and Anders mumbled to himself as he held a poultice to his face, a dark bruise already showing around one of his eyes. Nathaniel watched the hills as much as he did their Commander, lips in a stern, dubious line.

* * *

Anders collapsed into the chair, leaning gingerly into his hands with his elbows on the table, "That woman is evil."

Nathaniel thanked the servant and bit into bread, eyes down as he ate.

"That man deserved it," Oghren said, "The Warden-Commander wouldn't have done that if he didn't."

"She hit me, you smelly midget!" When Nathaniel's eyes turned to Anders, he added, "And killed some stranger in the street – in cold blood. Between that and Mhairi…"

"She didn't have to be a warden," Oghren glowered at Anders, ripping into a bit of cold ham. "This ain't no Blight, she chose to come here."

Nathaniel raised his brow.

"Oh yes, I bet you didn't learn that at your Joining," Anders leant closer to him, speaking low to keep the kitchen staff from hearing, "Big secret and all – it can kill you. And the other recruit in ours did."

Oghren shook his head, taking a biscuit to mop a runny egg from his plate.

Stealing another roll, Anders stood as Zevran casually approached with the aide of a cane, "I'm going to bed. Marching all night, bloody Grey Wardens."

Zevran pulled back a chair and sat down with a concerted effort, muttering something in Antivan before flashing a grin and saying, "Good morning."

"Good, right. I think twinkle-toes had it right, I'm knackered."

Eyes creasing with his smile, Zevran thanked the young woman who brought him some breakfast. Nathaniel's eyes were upon him before the Antivan casually said, "So, you are the Howe? Oh the puns... I know we have not spoke much – Zevran Arainai."

"I've heard enough about you."

Zevran chuckled, "You flatter me. Perhaps I shall you? Neria has mentioned you as well. Did you know I tried to kill her? I would say more successfully, but alas, try only counts for so much in assassinations."

"That makes it all the more preposterous."

"Oh? Yes, I suppose." Zevran idly ate some of the food on his plate, "You know, I never stop feeling spoiled. A warm bed, a good meal, attractive men and women all around me."

"What are you doing down here, Zevran?"

"Eating an awesome breakfast – what are you doing?"

Nathaniel put his glass down, crossing his arms to lean on the table, "Shouldn't you be with Neria?" His voice dipped lower, "Or did she not mention the pickpocket she gutted in the streets of Amaranthine?"

The pewter fork faltered in Zevran's grasp only a moment, before he ate another mouthful and casually said, "No doubt he did something to engender such violence from our dear Warden-Commander."

"Not what she did to him," Nathaniel frowned, pushing his plate away as he sat up. There were lines of fatigue under his eyes. "Never you mind that she hit Anders - where do you think he got the black eye – she made us march through the night without rest. In near silence the whole way."

Zevran licked his lips, sidestepping to say, "From all I have heard, Anders is not a man you are too fond of. Need I express how he might have earned it?"

Nathaniel shook his head, crossing his arms as he leant back, "All I know is that if my partner – if the woman I loved – did something like that…" He shook his head, gazing at a distant point.

The edge of Zevran's lips tweaked, "Excuse me?"

"I've seen her come to your chamber in the night. She spends more time alone with you than anyone else."

The Antivan chuckled, sparkling eyes turning to Nathaniel, "How endearing. No, we are not together." Zevran wiped over his mouth with his thumb and pushed back from the table as he added, "But I will speak with her – because she is my friend."

Out of sight of the kitchen, Zevran's expression lost its candour, and he took the stairs up to the master bedroom, kept at a slow pace by the weakness of his leg. Testing the door, he found it locked, and as if in proof of his respect, he knocked on the door with his cane. When there came no reply he knocked again and leant against the wood, " _Caro_ , it is only me."

When it opened a sliver, Zevran slipped into the room without a word and relocked the door.

Neria was in a heavy dressing robe, her arms crossed to hug it around herself as she quietly said, "You knocked."

"Well, I heard you were out killing men in the streets, and the last time I snuck in you threw things at me," Zevran glanced at the haphazard pile of bloodied armour nearby, "It seemed the safest bet."

"Is that what you came here for?"

Picking through his words, Zevran finally, plainly said, "I was worried about you. Others are too, but I came for me."

"Well, you can be glad to know I killed a man today," Neria roughly whispered, pulling the neck of the robe up, "Stuck him like a pig and ripped his gut out."

Zevran left his cane on the dresser and casually sat on her bed, watching her. It was a moment before he said, "You know how I feel of such things. But too, I know that it is not in your nature to do such as this."

Neria bristled into a shiver and covered her face. Her hair was unbound, dirtied and hanging freely, though her ears stuck through the strands.

When she shuddered, Zevran looked into his hands and asked, "What did he do?"

"I got spoiled being able to sleep through the night," Neria murmured, her hands disappearing under the heavy garment. It was warm in the room, and the windows were bright from the burgeoning morning outside. "I don't sleep at night. Not really anymore."

"Come, sit here, have you not been telling me to keep weight off of the leg?" Zevran gave her a plaintive look that softened away as she was tempted closer.

Sitting on the bed, Neria cupped her cheeks and closed her eyes, gathering herself before she said, "How many people have I killed, Zev?"

"Do the others not bother you?"

"They do."

"And does this one?"

Her eyes were reddened, but no tears came as Neria shook her head and whispered, "No." She dragged her fingers into her hair, pulling at it a little before forcing them into her lap, leaning against him.

Zevran inhaled and wrapped an arm around her. It seemed the longer Alistair was gone, the more she turned to him. He tried to convince himself the templar had not abandoned her. But once more, he was gone because of duty, leaving Zevran to try and gather Neria like the water she was.

He would have to break the man's nose.

"It looked like you broke Anders nose."

"Oh Maker," Neria softly whimpered, putting her hands over her face again, cool fingers against her blush.

"Not that I wholly object, do not mistake this. It is just curious."

Neria looked toward the window, her cheeks drawn. There was a bitter taste on her tongue, "He touched my arm."

Zevran furrowed his brow before murmuring, "Perhaps I should move."

"No – no, please don't," Neria trembled again and her expression crushed down into her hands.

"Shh _tesaro_ , I will not go anywhere lest you demand it," Zevran said, his hand drifting up her arm to squeeze her closer.

"I should be stronger than this," she whispered.

"Oh? But you are so fetching when you are distraught," Zevran sighed, tilting his cheek against her hair, and Neria turned into him more. He buried the thought. "A radiant storm. A regal ice beauty."

The shadow of a bird fluttering by the window passed in the silence, until finally Neria quietly blurted, "He was a guard from Fort Drakon."

A spark caught in Zevran's chest, and he closed his fingers into the loose fabric at Neria's arm. Her face that day in the street, when he and Leiliana had slain two soldiers only to find Neria and Alistair were the others. "Then you did the right thing."

"Did I," she whispered, a small huff of air following, "And what would Alistair say if he knew? I didn't care Zev, I had to kill him… for what he did…"

"Alistair would have killed him without thought," Zevran quickly said, running his hand down her back as he swallowed the anger. "And if he wouldn't, than he is no man that truly loves you."

Neria furrowed her brow, running her clammy fingers up the bridge of her nose.

"If he had known – if he had known and been at your side, it would have been his blade. It would have been mine."

"I should feel poorly for doing it," Neria whispered.

Zevran's nose wrinkled as he shook his head, "Never. There was purpose in his death – as there has been for all the others that you have killed. And this was for you."

Neria looked out the window, slumped on the edge of the bed.

Running his fingers up through the ends of Neria's hair, Zevran said, "Fetch your brush and I will braid your hair."


	6. N'oubliez pas

Alistair checked the small leather map, sighing as he glanced around, a hand resting on his sword. Neria had been the geographer in their travels. He learned something if he were there long enough, but honestly, his sense of direction was subpar.

He was fairly certain he was nearing the docks. Leonie had mentioned the captain they sailed with returning to Amaranthine on a trade route - if he were able to find them, he could send a letter with the captain before they headed up river the next morning.

The bridge he was on led across the canal - he recalled passing it. He remembered the bawdy house whose steps led onto the bridge. Right, he probably shouldn't be getting around a city based on something like that. Alistair's cheeks coloured faintly as he hurried away.

Gulls wheeled overhead, as though following and mocking him. Even with the breeze coming up from the sea, Alistair's armour was hot, the sun bright overhead and leaving his skin with a perpetual glow. Ever in the distance, his eyes turned to the golden tower that heralded the Circle of Magi.

The past nights had been spent in festivals he could not have imagined, magical and exotic displays that fuddled his templar senses. In the cornered off section of the city, he and the other Wardens were the minority - mages dominated, and such he had been restricted from a number of the pavilions. But no matter their freedom in the College, the templar presence was equally as strong.

A bundle of children swarmed the street around him, kicking a leather ball and shrieking as they played. Looking up, Alistair suddenly realized he had no idea where he was, and his expression drooped.

"You look lost, young man."

"I am, I - " When Alistair turned, he gave his head a slight shake, before saying, "Wynne?"

The elderly mage lightly smirked, her hands clasped together around her staff. Nearby a group of mages bearing the heraldry of the Ferelden circle paused amidst their honour guard of templars.

"What are you doing in Cumberland?"

Wynne tilted her head and said, "I could ask the same thing of you. It is good to see you."

"What am I saying," Alistair's expression loosed into relief as he bent to delicately hug her, "It's good to see you too. Of many familiar faces, yours is one I'd prefer."  
Chuckling, Wynne said, "You were always too good at softening me up." Patting her hand over his, she continued, "I thought Neria had taken up the arling of Amaranthine as Warden-Commander? I had hoped the girl would tell me if she were coming to the College."

"No... no she's in Amaranthine," Alistair said, "I - I've been recalled to Weisshaupt."

Wynne sighed and shook her head, giving his hand a squeeze, "Seems people can never do enough good in this world without so many questioning why they haven't failed."

Alistair looked down between them, before absently shaking his head, "But I am trying to find my way to the docks, and I fear I've gotten terribly lost."

"You aren't far," Wynne tiredly grinned before giving him the needed directions. Another of the mages took her side, prompting her to say, "I am sorry I cannot speak more. We must continue on to the tower."

"Fancy that I go to a different country and find people I know," Alistair offered a weak smile.

"I've missed you - and Neria too," Turning to join her entourage, Wynne said, "Tell her that when you return?"

* * *

Sitting in the library supporting his head as he read, Anders didn't notice Neria approaching. There was some packing in one of his nostrils, and the darkness around his eye had deepened to a rich purple - but it seemed to be greening at the edges.

"How's the nose?"

"Just peachy, thanks," he muttered nasally. He didn't lift his eyes from the book before him as Neria stood there.

Neria looked down, standing opposite the table he was at, "I'm sorry for hitting you. I wanted to see if you needed help healing it. My herbalism is quite good."

"Yes, Miss Neria was always the best - well at almost anything," Anders finally dropped the quill in the spine of his book and glowered at her. "I'm not sure I want you touching my nose again - have you seen how I look?"

"That man did some terrible things to me. I - I would have hit anyone. I'm sorry it was you."

"Much would have preferred to see you bash Nate in the face," Anders murmured, crossing his arms as he sat back.

Neria tried a smile but it soon faded, and she looked at one of the lamps, still holding a closed basket behind her back, "Didn't people used to make fun of you for playing with that cat in the Tower?"

"People made fun of me for Mr. Wiggums?" Anders nearly pouted as he looked at her. "There were days when the only person I saw was that stupid cat."

Expression losing some of its crease, Neria gingerly brought the basket around and set it on top of the open books, "Well I wanted to... apologize for - did I really break your nose?"

"Yes," Anders glowered at her again, before his eyes turned to the basket.

Neria cringed, "I am so sorry, Anders... this is for you either way."

"What is it," he cautiously asked when the wicker cracked with movement.

Motioning to the basket, Neria stepped back and tiredly smiled, before putting her hands in the pockets of her robes.

Anders stood up and opened the basket, leaning away from it just in case. When a furry head popped out his expression lit up, and he promptly cringed and put a hand to his nose, "You got me a cat!"

"I found it amidst the buildings in the ward," Neria smiled as Anders pulled the cat into his arms, petting it and receiving a nuzzle in return. "And… well I thought you might like it."

"It – it's for me?"

"Of course," Neria softly said, almost laughing, "What, did you think I would bring it and just flaunt it in front of your face?"

"It wouldn't be the first time a woman's done that," Anders smirked, before nuzzle the cat again. "Look at you! You are so cute, yes you are! You will have to be Ser Pounce-a-Lot."

The orange cat nuzzled the stubble on Ander's chin before finding purchase in his robe, and clawing his way up the man's shoulder. "Ow ow ow, yes… um alright." He laughed a little as it laid over his shoulder, scritching his fingers down its back. "This is so unexpected."

"But you like her?"

"It's a she?"

"Yes," Neria laughed, "Aren't you older than me? Didn't you get that talk as an apprentice in the Tower?"

"Oh I got it more than once, if you know what I mean," Anders waggled his brow, tilting his head aside to feel the cat purr.

Neria groaned and covered her eyes a moment.

"She is perfect! Purrrfect, yes you are!"

"So have you learnt that spell yet?" Neria softly laughed.

"I see how it is," Anders settled back into his chair. "Soften me up with a cute cuddly - yes, that's you Ser Pounce-a-Lot – kitty and then lay out the demands. I thought this was an apology cat?"

Neria trailed her fingers over one of the books and murmured, "It would be a great help if you could take over the healing I do. I found a book that mirrors some of the arcane techniques I use to fight with my sword."

"I know, I know," Anders sighed, slouching in the chair. He picked up the cat to nuzzle it before putting it in his lap. He cringed as it prodded and kneaded his robes, claws catching in the fabric, "I'm almost there, I swear."

"You can always ask me for help, you know," Neria glanced at him, the fatigue around her eyes returning as she sat opposite him.

"Says the younger mage, for shame!"

"It can't be helped – you spent all your time escaping, while I spent all my time studying. And … the Blight taught me a great deal more than I would have ever learned in the Tower."

"You're telling me," Anders said, "Some of the things you do are frightening."

Neria furrowed her brow, crossing her arms as she leant back in the chair.

Petting ser cat for a time, Anders watched the fur ruffle under his fingers, listening to her purr before he finally said, "You know, you've changed a lot."

"Have I now," Neria slightly bristled, her stomach tightening.

"I remember you being all, ohhh get out of my light, go away – don't set that on fire, leave my hair alone!"

Leering at him, Neria's cheeks lightly flushed as she said, "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know," Anders mused, stroking the cat, "Now it seems more like, hey you learn this, burn those dark spawn, no don't set that on fire, leave the – well, maybe it's not so different from the Tower."

"I could always recruit a templar or two to make it feel like home, if you'd like?"

"Oh yes," Anders raised a hand, "They can cleanse aura or something terrible like that – just for fun!"

"I am all about fun," Neria smirked.

"I stand corrected. You haven't changed."

Neria flipped through the nearest book on the table – Advanced Herbal Remedies, her own copy was stained and well-eared, "You never cared to get to know me."

"You wouldn't let me!" Anders said, and the cat stirred with his movement. Petting down her fur, he added, "It's not like I didn't try – some of the things Jowan used to say about you…"

"What did Jowan say?"

Anders looked at her apologetically, "Terrible thing, what happened to Jowan-"

"What did he say!"

Drawing a long breath, Anders said, "You know for a man involved with some religious acolyte, he sure got defensive about you."

Neria made a frustrated sound and stood up. Ser Pounce-a-Lot peered at her as Anders grinned. She bridged a hand over her brow and softly said, "Please just try to learn the spell soon?"

"But of course, oh Commander of mine."

Running a hand over the braids that kept her long pale hair from her face, Neria turned to leave.

"Neria?" She turned back as Anders spoke, "It's okay about the nose – it'll be fine. I'll look all rugged and manly now, right?" He grinned before growing uncharacteristically sombre, "I am… sorry for whatever he did."

Neria's shoulders relaxed as she looked at him, and seeing his fingers lavish attention on ser cat said, "Thanks. Maybe take the night off?"

Coquettish grin widening, Anders said, "If you insist." He watched her leave, before saying to Ser Pounce-a-Lot, "I need to get hurt by her more often."

* * *

Following the river north out of Cumberland, the hilly landscape was difficult to traverse. Though it was still late spring, the heat of the day sweltered under the canopy of trees, and the only breeze that filtered through was along the river. It was wet, and the river was filled to the brim.

They followed a well-kept path, none the less, and at varied intervals small shrines and obelisks marked key points on the trail.

"The Nevarran are not like most," Brant explained when they paused, watching Alistair slump into the shade and mop his brow. He clicked his tongue at the hawk that rested on his shoulder, and the raptor took off to hunt. "They entomb their dead after preserving and carefully wrapping their bodies. The Pentaghast necropolis is one of the largest in the region, it's been a dominant clan for some generations."

"And they take this route whenever someone die?" Alistair asked.

"Only the important ones," Leonie smirked, flushed red from the heat as she paused. She closed her eyes as Anne-Laure summoned a breeze over them, the air unnaturally chilled. " _Mercie bien, cherie_."

"I've never seen plants like this," Alistair smoothed his sweaty hair, hauling up again to keep moving.

"Be careful what you touch, not all the flora is harmless."

Peering through the surrounding forest, Alistair murmured, "Fun."

Walking through the forest most of the day, they gradually cut off the path and emerged from the trees into the burial grounds. Stripped of trees, the dark basalt tombs stood out from the lush surroundings. Lesser tumuli circled the expansive city of the dead, as though holding back the forest. Vines were encroaching some of the mortuary temples and lesser pylons, with shrubs breaking through the intricate cobbles between the entrances to the underground. A central obelisk rose above it all, ten or twenty stories tall – it was difficult to tell.

Alistair hesitated at the gateway, touching over the inscriptions that circled it.

"The wards are supposed to provide markers to the souls," Brant quietly said, "A map for the path that leads beyond the Fade and will take them to the Maker's side. And here – mages inscribed these centuries ago as spirit charms, to deflect them from the grounds."

The path they followed was mirrored throughout the necropolis, like spokes of a wheel, all of which led to the monolithic obelisk. Intricate carvings ascended its faces, precious stone and plated gold reflecting and sparkling in the late afternoon sun.

"Spooky," Alistair murmured, trailing between Brant and Leonie as they maintained a reverent silence.

"The curator has been absent for some weeks – he is the one that contacted me. There," Brant drew his sword as he darted forward, the hawk on his shoulder flapping free. He sighed as they approached the bodies, badly picked over and shrivelled, "The clan had hired mercenaries to come here."

"That doesn't look natural," Alistair murmured, flexing his fingers over the hilt of his sword as he looked around. He didn't like the place, it stirred something akin to the way Anne-Laure raised his hackles.

The mage tossed her hair back, wiping the sweat from her brow as she spoke in quick Orlesian, pausing before saying, "It is weather?"

"It is warmer," Leonie nodded, sniffing in, "Decay is much quicker here than even Orlais, let alone Ferelden."

"Oh," Alistair furrowed his brow before quietly saying, "I can feel something nearby. Perhaps it is the charms, but…"

Brant extended his falconer's glove as the brown and gold-flecked hawk returned. He transferred the bird to his shoulder as he said, "We will go underground, the seal is cracked – see?"

The wide door in the housing of the obelisk was half broken, the stone gears eroded and ripped away. A cold breeze seeped from within as they approached, and Anne-Laure said a quick prayer.

When Brant and Alistair stepped onto the threshold, there was a shift in the air, and a whirl of violet light swirled around them. Leonie cursed and threw an arm in front of Anne-Laure as the magic crackled and whipped at their limbs. Alistair stumbled to a knee as the electrical energy disseminated over his armour and weakened his limbs.

Beneath them, the circular ward glowed the same indigo hue, and the grind of stone filled the air. The carved emblem rotated, further unbalancing them, and with a click the stone swirled open. The hawk on Brant's arm screeched and fluttered its wings, breaking free from the crackling prison as the ground swallowed the two men.

The air smelt of ozone, and Leonie's head whipped around as the stone sealed. She had to grab Anne-Laure again as she lurched for the emblem, speaking in Orlesian, "Don't touch it, we don't know what they tripped."

Pulling free, Anne-Laure frowned and said, "Yes, and it'll be our tongues that shall be cut if we are forced to report to the Commander in Cumberland without them – unless you wish to tell them you lost your charge?"

The hawk in the air screeched, diving at them as it searched for its master, and the two women cowed down.

Leonie furrowed her brow and hastily said, "Just be careful, we will find a way. Even if they are already dead."

* * *

Alistair opened his eyes, only able to see by the glow of light from his enchanted sword a few feet away. Not that there was anything to see beyond it. There was more than one lump poking into his back, leaving him at an awkward angle on the ground. He groaned as he sat up, pulling off his helmet and closing his eyes as his vision swam.

"Alistair?"

Opening his eyes, Alistair looked for the voice in the dark, and he saw the partial, dim outline of the other man, "Yeah. We're alive?"

"The way my arse feels, I'd say so."

"What happened?" His voice was coarse, and Alistair licked his lips. As he moved, the debris beneath him shifted, and he slipped back down. "Maker's breath, I feel cooked and beaten."

"The curator didn't mention traps," Brant absently said. "I should have thought of it. I read about them. I read about this."

Alistair sighed, straining in the low light. He picked up something beneath him, and holding it towards his sword saw the outline of a skull. Making a sound he threw it, only to hear the crack of bone on stone, "We're… we're on bodies."

"Aye," Brant replied, "Other people caught."

"Can you move?"

The sound of his deep breath followed before Brant said, "Mostly – my leg was twisted in the fall. But there isn't much room."

Alistair reached up and found himself able to stand. He picked up his sword and pushed the bones and rusted armour underfoot to one side, using the glowing blade to try and see more. His ribs deeply ached with each breath, and it took time to clear enough space. He reached a hand to help Brant move.

Sighing, Alistair traced the walls, hindered by the low light as he felt for anything out of the ordinary.

"I doubt you'll find anything."

"Excuse me if I just don't lay down and die," Alistair murmured, peering at the other man in the dark.

"This is an oubliette," Brant murmured, laying his head against the wall, trying to ignore the fire lancing up his knee.

"How lovely, that sounds Orlesian."

"It is," Brant said, opening his eyes to equal darkness. He watched the glow Alistair's sword. "It is where things go that are to be forgotten."

"I kind of like to imagine there are those who might say otherwise," Finding only smooth links of stone, Alistair sighed and slumped, the ache in his ribs dizzying. He knew that feeling too well – and no mage to make it better. "What about you? If someone like me can have a woman waiting for him, there must be at least one there for you."

Brant closed his eyes, preferring the honest darkness it brought, "No. Not anymore."

"Oh," Alistair quietly said, leaning against the wall. Now and then there was the sound of distant water, and low thuds through the stone. He tried to focus on the shifting, magical energy on his sword – anything to keep his eyes from unfocusing in the low light.

"Heru perhaps?"

"My hawk?" Brant looked at the curves he could barely make out, "Some might say she's better off without me."

"I am certain she is distraught, however er, hawks might express their sorrow," Alistair said. "Hopefully she is screeching a great deal and really bothering Leonie and Anne-Laure.

Brant chuckled and said, "Yeah."

Alistair strained in the ensuing silence, blinking from a stupour as a deadened thud muffled through the rock. Lifting his head, his stiff neck muscles ached and his chest throbbed with pain as he whispered, "Do you still have your pack?"

"It'll be here somewhere," There was no echo in the relatively small space as Brant moved, hitting bones out of his way, "Here."

Alistair slowly took off bits of his armour, laying them near his sword to reflect and scatter the light, "If you can get your leg free, I'll poultice it." Their movements were slow and pained. "Do you think they'll try and get us out?"

"Us? Mm." Brant closed his eyes, features distorted as he forced off his greaves. "You, yes."

"Well if they come for me, I'll drag you out too," Alistair murmured, stripping his shirt off to clumsily smear the poultice and wrap the bandages over his ribs. On his knees, he patted Brant's ankle, "This leg?"

"Yep," Brant said with a sigh, and as Alistair carefully treated the swollen knee he said. "Doesn't the silence bother you?"

"It's better than the Deep Roads," he tactfully said.

Head back against the rock, Brant strained to focus in the darkness as he slowly said, "I met my wife when I came to Nevarra."

"You've never mentioned her," Alistair quietly said, apologizing as Brant groaned in pain.

"Maybe I should," Brant said, leaning back again as the bandage was tucked tight. "I used to work as a falconer and fletcher – it fit, really. Kiya was something else with a bow. And we were happy." The silence felt close, hemmed in by the stone as he added, "She was assaulted in the street - died in the premature childbirth that ensued. I lost my son shortly after."

"I... I'm sorry."

"Why? I am not the only man to suffer such."

"You don't have to talk about any of this."

"Maybe not," Brant replied, crossing his arms in the damp air. His leathers creaked. The humid air weighed on them.

"I have come to believe that the lot of a Grey Warden is a life of trial leading to the necessity of our duty. Not one I have met has not endured horrors, been subjugated, or lost a piece of their heart," Brand said after some time. "Ours is sorrow – we take it in and refashion it anew, strengthened together and remade.

"It is why your story - well and Neria's – is so..." Brant sighed, "You had none of us to hold you together. You only had each other, and have been made to come all this way just to die in some damned hole."

"There have been more times than this that I thought it was the end – that it seemed so much more certain," Alistair smirked. "Maybe it's naive of me to place hope in Leonie's hands."

Alistair wiped his brow, the humidity leaving condensation on his skin, "It helps thinking… that others need me. That Neria does," Running his hands through his hair, he sighed, "Not like this."

"It must be hard being so far from her."

"More than you know," Alistair whispered.

"Oh? Come on," Brant chuckled, "There were bards in Cumberland who already sang of a templar and a mage in love, saving Thedas from the Blight. It seems so ideal that most don't believe it, I think. But now, meeting you…"

"We just got so used to not being able to talk about it. Even after, it was just easier to… to just be us, be Wardens. I was almost king you know."

Brant sat up with a bit of trouble, "That's right! What a life to lead, I doubt many would have turned it down."

"Maybe," Alistair murmured, putting a hand to his ribs, "All the same, I'd rather be here than back in Denerim under some crown."

"That says something," Brant laughed darkly, before lapsing into silence. There was another grind of stone, followed by an incalculable pause. "Tell me about her. Let me know her too."


	7. The Wending Wood

The sun filtered through the hazy clouds as they trekked through the farmland surrounding the Vigil, heading for the Wending Woods on word of a conflict that was preventing trade on the Pilgrim's Path. It was midday as the crops disappeared into a rolling, treed landscape.

"There," Neria drew her sword and led them down the hill. The soldiers in the road struggled against the darkspawn, and the curdling scream of one echoed in the morning light.

"Maker's breath, I will never get used to that," Anders murmured, feeling the souring scrape in his soul as they got close enough to the darkspawn. An arrow flew over his shoulder, pelting a genlock in the face.

"Come on ya twat, don't just stand there," Oghren smirked and leapt in alongside Neria, his axe swinging wide to chink into the tainted flesh.

Anders swept his staff and the emissary was wracked into a glimmering cage. Flowing to follow the combat, he summoned a green light to envelop Neria, who cried as she spun, decapitating the hurlock at her side.

Eyes clouding with light, Neria lifted her sword overhead, and with the key words, frigid air belted off her body and vibrated through the clot of darkspawn. They froze in place, limbs rigid and eyes darkening as their functions ceased.

Trying to gain her breath, Neria went to check on the soldiers, healing and helping them up. Oghren planted his foot on a hurlock and rent his axe out of its chest. Pulling a cloth from his pocket, he cleaned the blade before securing it on his back. They worked to begrudgingly gather the darkspawn as Neria flipped open her journal and made note of a few key things.

Anders dragged a shriek by the leg, panting at the exertion as he did his best to add it to the bloody pile, "How come you never speak to Neria like that?"

Oghren hoisted a hurlock off his shoulder, wiping some blood on his beard onto the gadlings of his gauntlet, "Huh? What are you getting at skirt-man?"

"That -" Anders said with a huff, having to bend over an exorbitant amount to lift and toss one of the darkspawn with Oghren, " - that's exactly what I'm getting at. I never hear you speak about our esteemed leader that way."

"Got right there why I don't," Oghren sniffed and hesitated, " She ain't no pussy like you."

"I am hardly some wimpish thing, have you seen the fireballs I throw?" Anders did his best to lift another darkspawn on his own, and it crumpled beside the pile. He pushed it with his foot. "I could burn and crush you into something the size of a toad, you know."

"Right, right - not a pussy. Just parades around with one."

Pouting quite a lip, Anders put a hand on his satchel and looked down, "That isn't fair, is it Ser-Pounce-a-Lot?" There came a muffled, half-annoyed mewling from the bag. He carefully readjusted it, whispering a hasty apology to the poor creature within.

"Anders! What are you waiting for?" Neria crossed her arms, the soldiers marching back onto patrol behind her.

"What?"

"Burn the darkspawn," she turned away, and Nathaniel joined her side as she went back onto the road.

Oghren snickered and gave a mock salute, following her while Anders summoned a flame and coated the piled bodies. He stood there until they all caught, and then hurried to catch up. They were forced to stop and clear the road of debris not a mile ahead, and the mage found himself by the dwarf again, helping to move a broken cart

"I've known the boss longer than you," Oghren murmured, squatting to lift the wood and push it off the road. "I've seen what she can do - and let me tell ya kid, you don't compare. She is a force to be reckoned with - a power to fear. Like most women."

"Hmph," Anders panted, shaking his hand as something pinched. The mangled cart dropped and Oghren cursed a storm. "And what am I?"

Glaring at the mage, Oghren said, "A pansy in a dress. Now help me pick this farkin' thing up, girly."

* * *

Neria smeared a salve to sooth the burnt skin along her neck, closing her eyes as Nathaniel knelt to pick the lock on the ancient door into the silverite mine. Her temples throbbed from lack of sleep, the previous night in camp fraught with a one-sided conversation. She almost wondered if she had faltered and let in some demon from the Fade.

"Another moody elf?" Anders murmured to Oghren, just out of earshot of Neria and Velanna, "I thought we were all full up."

"Careful, nug-humper, she might break yer nose again," Oghren replied.

Anders narrowed his eyes at the dwarf.

"Hurry up! This is taking too long," Velanna snapped, crossing her arms. A flush of magical energy snaked up her limbs, briefly illuminated in the vallaslin on her face.

"Don't worry," Neria said, pulling a hand back as the keeper glared at her, "We will eradicate any darkspawn we find, I have no doubt we will find your sister."

When the lock cracked, Nathaniel beckoned to Oghren, and together they pried the heavy door open. Neria stiffened, the scent of the underground and deep brought with it.

"Ahh," Oghren sighed, sniffing deep, "Smells like home."

Torches burnt within the mine, dimly lighting the creaking stairs that led through the stone. A peculiar bit of stonework set within a circle marked the first way station of the descent, and Neria knelt by it to investigate the ruins. Her Fade-borne aura cast a ghostly light, but it allowed her to see the deep, aged marks in the foreign stone.

"At last you come," A familiar voice rang through the man-made cavern.

Neria faltered back, drawing her blade as she looked around.

"What is it?" Nathaniel asked, drawing his bow as the rest followed suit, confused but prepared.

"Please tell me you heard that," Neria whispered, turning as she summoned her wisp and sent it dancing through the air.

"I didn't hear anything," Velanna said, frowning at the mage.

Neria shook her head, her movements difficult to track, her body still translucent and glowing gold, "No…"

"Shh…" The voice spoke again, an emotionless hush of sound, "Sleep…"

Panic rose through Neria's chest as she tensed, the world turning to molasses around her. The voices of her companions melted with it, softening into the darkness that took her vision and deadened her limbs.

* * *

 _"I apologize, this seemed the only way – you must help me," The voice spoke quietly, as though to keep her from waking. Her limbs were deadened again. "Imagine a world without Blights – a world without fear of the darkspawn. You and your order are the key. I must take from you to free them."_

 _There was the soft pulse of something in the distance – it was more familiar than she liked to know. It harkened back to the war, to the screaming in her dreams, and the light that consumed every bit of her when it ended._

 _"You hear it, but push it back," The words were calculating and smooth, cautious somehow, "It is your strength to ignore the call – the strength that was stolen from my kind."_

Neria opened her eyes, her pulse high in her throat, throbbing as the bars and shadows from the torchlight came into focus. There was a rough, dirty dress on her limbs, scarce keeping the cold stone from penetrating. She sat up, her head throbbing and unsteadying her.

Blinking sore eyes, Neria got up. She was the only one yet awake. She ran her hands over her limbs, feeling herself – feeling she was whole and clothed. Shuddering, she touched a scab on her arm, closing her eyes at the sickened scratches itching her soul – at the darkspawn nearby.

"What? Where – where am I?"

Neria turned as Velanna sat up, quick on her feet to feel across the bars, expression hardened.

"What is this trickery?"

"We've been captured," Neria evenly said, watching Velanna continue to search. In the back of the cell Nathaniel and Anders stirred.

"By the Ancestors, I better have had a good time," Oghren rolled, snorting in as he shook himself and got up.

"There are darkspawn nearby," Neria whispered, turning back to the bars. Leaning her head against their grime, she listened within. "A small group, there."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Velanna asked, crossing her arms and glowering at her.

"Keep your head, it is hardly the Commander's fault we were captured," Nathaniel frowned, "We came here after your sister."

The door across the dungeon creaked, and their heads turned to see a milky-eyed elven woman hurry up.

"Seranni!"

The hairs on the back of Neria's neck bristled, staring at the tainted elf. Her eyes were whitened and there were dark welts on her skin – it was the sickness. The taint.

"Dear sister, I cannot stay – but you must be free," Seranni whispered, fumbling with a set of ancient keys.

"What are you talking about? I've come to get you out – we need to get you away from here," Velanna said, mouth creased.

"I cannot stay, he will know I am gone," Seranni's eyes turned to Neria, shrinking back under the elven mage's gaze.

"Why are you here?" Neria asked, and Seranni shook her head.

Seranni pressed the key's into Neria's hand, milky eyes unfocused, unable to dilate, "Take these. I must go. Get out of here, Velanna. The darkspawn have your things…"  
"Seranni – wait! Where are you going!" Velanna hit the bars, crying out as her sister escaped back through dungeon. She grabbed Neria, "Let me out! We must find her!"

"Are you mad, woman?" Nathaniel plucked Velanna's hand from Neria, "Acting like this will do no good."

"Get your hands off of me, shem," Velanna growled, snatching her hand back. "We will kill these things and save my sister – kill them all."

Out through the dungeon, they poised from a vantage, and the mages sent down calamity upon the awaiting group of darkspawn. When the snow and fire cleared, there was only an alpha hurlock left standing, and he was soon wracked into a prison of crushing light.

"You've been practising," murmured Neria.

"Well," Anders said, slightly out of breath as they continued through the tunnels, clad in half-shod armour and weaponry stolen from the darkspawn, "Maybe a little."

Leading a pre-emptive magical strike, they fared well enough against the darkspawn through the ensuing caves - but they were bloodied and unprotected. Neria pushed away from her companions when she saw a familiar man on the ground - he was still breathing when she cradled his head.

"W... Commander?" he softly choked, his lips cracked and his skin sickly.

"Keenan, I am here. We will get you out of here - are there any others?"

The Grey Warden shook his head, trembling in her grasp as he blinked milky eyes, "They are all gone. And my legs... my legs are crushed."

Nathaniel turned from his watch by the door, frowning as the man choked a sound and snatched Neria's arm.

"They tried to take us all," he whispered, "The things they did... I'm the only one left."

"We can heal you - we'll help you out of here."

"No! No - can't you feel it," he pulled Neria closer, and the elf furrowed her brow. "It is perverted. You can feel it. There is no saving my legs..."

"You are delirious-"

"Take this to my wife? In the city...Nida, sweet Nida you were right…you were always right," he softly wept, heavy in Neria's arms. "But I tried – I tried and they could not take me. Make them pay."

Neria's hand was nearly crushed in his grasp, the wide wedding band in her palm. Keenan convulsed and sunk further to the ground, his breath shuddering before he became dead weight. "We – we can carry him. I know it."

"Neria," Anders said, stopping himself from touching her shoulder as she shook her head, "Who knows how long he's been down here."

Neria shook her head, "We should take his body – they are all gone."

"There is us," Nathaniel said, he turned from the doorway.

"And there is my sister," Velanna snapped, grimacing as she stared at the dead shemlen.

"Do you always treat those trying to help you this way?" Nathaniel asked as Neria crossed Keenan's arms over the other and coated him in fire. They fell back as the leather caught, the sickened burning smell filling the cave. "No wonder your clan is gone."

Velanna shot Nathaniel a glance, before stalking back into the cave and saying, "I don't need your help. Stay here and die, for all I care."

Neria lingered to say a quiet prayer over the body, nostrils flaring at the smell before she hurried on with the others.

Finally, they were through the troubles and clad back in their bloodied and tainted gear. Oghren joined Neria to force open a wide, ancient door. They were greeted by stagnant air, and she lifted her staff to spill light into the chamber. Their steps left prints in the dust on the ground, and as the moved, torches lit up the walls, revealing a tall, deformed darkspawn standing on a buttress at the opposite end of the deep room. There was a dwarf and an elf by his side.

"Seranni!" Velanna ran across the room, looking for a means to reach her sister.

Neria's pulse thudded in her veins, eyes upon the uncommon, skeletal creature that met her gaze. The tug inside was oddly familiar, and when the Architect spoke, her soul drained away.

"It is unfortunate," the darkspawn said, voice harkened from her dreams. He touched a clawed hand to the dwarf at his side, and they exchanged a glance, before he looked the other way and touched Seranni's chin. "Come, we must prepare."

"No – no you can't take her!" Velanna cried, whipping out her staff. "Stop!"

In the darkness, a roar vibrated the stone, providing enough distraction for the Architect to escape. A brilliant flash of light pained their eyes, and the passage rumbled and filled with stone behind him.

"Where would they go?" Velanna's voice lost some of its strength.

"The Deep Roads," Oghren grunted. "S'where darkspawn always go."

"You - Warden," Velanna turned to Neria, "Wardens hunt the darkspawn., don't they? Let me join you - I will kill any I see, but I must find my sister!"

"Neria," Nathaniel spoke low, and the elven mage followed his gaze.

The flap of the dragon's wings stirred dust up into their eyes, and Neria clamped her lips closed as she rolled to press against the wall. The roar reverberated off of the ruins. Gathering stone from the air like it were a big belly, she looked at one of the creatures and launched it, snagging its wing and briefly disabling it.

A second dragon flashed into the room, the fire from its mouth illuminating the chamber and heating the air. When it roared at its twin, Neria's eyes clouded bright white and the world filled with ice.

* * *

Neria started a fire as Nathaniel swept the perimeter of camp. Velanna hastily set up a tent, and Oghren sat drinking as Anders struggled with his own shelter. When Neria said she'd take the first watch, the dwarf downed the rest of his skein and flopped back to sleep under the stars. Tent half-collapsed, Anders disappeared under the flap, his muttering continuing some time as Neria wiped down her armour.

Nathaniel moved sluggishly, and when he sat down nearby, he cringed.

"Are you hurt?

Trying to temper his movements, Nathaniel quietly said, "It is nothing."

Neria almost rolled her eyes, standing before him, "Show me. There is no need to tough it out – especially if it's from those dragons."

Eyeing her, Nathaniel relented and tried to unstrap his leathers, only to cringe again as blood spilt from a split in the armour at his should. Neria squatted down and gingerly unfolded the pieces, laying them aside. His shirt was soaked through.

"Come on," she sighed, "Let's get that off too so I can clean it properly."

"What?" Nathaniel moved again and cringed, clearing his throat, "It's really not necessary."

"Yes it is. Dragons, drakes – I have more experience with them than you," Neria murmured, reached for the edges of his shirt, pulling it carefully over his head, "It needs to be irrigated, they often have toxins in their talons or saliva. There, didn't even have to move. Let me fetch some water."

Nathaniel looked down, unable to keep his eyes from following Neria as she gathered her pack and a water skein. She dropped a number of things as she went through the satchel, before returning with the implements she desired.

"Nate, this is terrible," Neria furrowed her brow as she flushed the wound, the group of cuts lacerating his shoulder and neck muscles. "You have to tell me – or Anders – if you're hurt. We can fix you."

"Yes, I really trust Anders to patch me up."

Neria grinned tiredly, opening a salve to apply over the wound. Nathaniel hissed as she said, "Well, he knows his magic, trust me."

"I do," he said, closing his eyes. She stopped and he looked back at her, "I'm sorry. I owe you that, I should have… learnt anything before I came to the Vigil."

Watching the salve bubble in the wound, Neria said, "Thank you. I'm sorry I… had to kill your father. I regret it."

"From all I hear he deserved it," Nathaniel resigned, looking into his lap.

Neria seemed pleased and applied a poultice wrap before laying her hand over the bandages and whispering the needed words. Light suffused through the wound, and Nathaniel drew a breath.

"So how did a mage ever get a mabari?"

"What?" Neria's eyes were heavy, but she smiled none the less.

"They are not run of the mill dogs. You grew up in the Tower of Magi – hardly seems they'd give out puppies to apprentices."

Neria rolled her salves and elixirs back up as she grinned, eyes down, "He found me. I think he was originally in the King's army, I found a herb that helped with an illness." She moved across the fire, stuffing the leather roll back into her pack. She handed Nathaniel his shirt as she sat down beside him and looked at the fire. "He was a Grey Warden, really. He'd had his share of darkspawn blood and lived."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she softly said, eyes shadowed, "When we survived Ostagar and were trying to get out of the Wilds, we found him fighting a throng of darkspawn." Neria sadly laughed, "He was so happy to see me, I couldn't figure out why."

Nathaniel tried to put on his shirt, moving stiffly in the bandage. The burning had subsided and the cuts were healed, leaving just a deep ache and bruise, "What was his name?"

"Ualan. I wouldn't have made it without him," Neria whispered.

"I am sorry to have brought him up," Nathaniel murmured, resting an arm over his knee as he gave up.

Neria shook her head, "Don't be." She moved, helping to slip his arm through the shirt holes. Looking down, she caught his wrist, turning over his arm. "What is this?"  
"They were there when we woke in the dungeon."

Neria swallowed the lump in her throat, looking at the defined punctures on the inside of Nathaniel's arm. They mirrored the ones she had found on her own. "Are you certain?"

Nathaniel furrowed his brow as he looked at her, finally able to slip his shirt on. Her cheeks flushed red as he stared, and she moved away as he said, "Yes. I would have noticed that sort of thing."

Sitting in the growing dark, it was some time before Neria said, "I don't sense any darkspawn. You should be alright to sleep."

"I'm not sure I could," Nathaniel said, hesitating before he asked. "The talking darkspawn. You recognized it."

Neria stiffened, folding her hands into her lap, as she said, "No, I didn't."

"You do not seem like one to lie, Commander."

Neria bristled, closing her eyes as she inhaled through her nose. Nathaniel kept his eyes on her and finally she said, "I recognized his voice."

"Why?"

"If you will not rest, than I shall," Neria said as she stood, tugging her pack with her. "You can handle the watch on your own, I'm sure."


	8. The Importance of Heroes

_Neria made a soft sound, feigning innocence as her hand dipped along his body. Alistair drew a deep breath, rousing from his half-sleep. The morning light was muted through the window. He sucked a sharper breath through his teeth as she wrapped her small hand around his half-mast and stroked in earnest._

 _"Again?" he croaked, blinking his eyes open, his pulse growing more urgent in his chest as her arm moved._

 _"Yes," Neria purred, "Again."_

 _Alistair's reply was lost in her lips, breathing deep through his nose as their tongues meshed. Each dart and swirl brought them closer, raised the heat beneath the sheet, until finally his hands found her thighs, squeezing to press her into the bed._

 _"Always more," he murmured into her breast, nipping, licking and biting before moving higher._

 _"Yes," she sighed in a breath, closing her eyes when his mouth found her throat, pulling his erection close, smearing it up her abdomen. There was a rosy flush on her cheeks, "Didn't you tell me? Wardens ... have appetites."_

 _Alistair chuckled into her mouth as he claimed it, stilted as their hips moved and she pressed the head of his member to the waiting wetness between her thighs. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling, needing, and he filled her, groaning deeply into her mouth as they kissed, all sense left him._

Head rolling on the stone, Alitsair clutched his ribs as he shivered awake. His breathing was laboured, as much from the dream as the vice of pain the breath wrought.

"Friend? Are you alright?"

"Fell asleep a while," Alistair croaked, blinking in the darkness. He looked to where the sword lay, beyond which he could see Brant.

"You sounded troubled."

"Yes," Alistair murmured, closing his eyes again as his blush remained, "Being stuck in a hole does that."

Brant chuckled before coughing, and feeling around picked up a skein to throw at Alistair, "We have a bit of water left yet - and there have been sounds through the - there, do you hear that?"

The distinct grinding of stone-on-stone reverberated through the confined space, and dust fell down on them. It had been growing, and they were covered in fine silt. Alistair coughed and covered his eyes, trying to look up. As he did, a sliver of light appeared, and the grind of stone increased.

"Blessed Andraste," he said, struggling weakly up to his feet.

The stone moved with a jerk, and the chasm filled with light, forcing the men to shield their eyes.

"Alistair? Brant?"

"Leonie – thank the Maker," Alistair said, leaning heavily against the wall. Looking down, his eyes struggled to adjust. The influx of evening light made the picked bones underfoot glow, and he stooped to retrieve his sword before offering Brant a hand.

A rope dropped, the bottom knot smacking Alistair in the head. Leonie called down, "It is secure, you must climb out."

"Can you make it?" Alistair asked Brant, who shouldered his pack and hobbled on a bust knee.

"I'm not so sure."

"Stay here then," Alistair grabbed the rope, and with some difficulty, climbed up the wall of the hole. He slipped part way and smacked into the rock, cursing as his armour dented. Finally, he emerged into the bright of the world, panting onto hands and knees.

"Are you hurt?" Leonie offered him a skein, which he took and drank greedily, "Anne-Laure."

Eyes closed, Alistair sighed out as a flush of magic tingled through his limbs, and he tentatively touched his ribs as he felt them knit whole, "Thank you… Brant needs it. We have to pull him out."

When they made it back to camp, it was dark, and Alistair's eyes stopped aching from the light. Brant uttered a thanks as Anne-Laure finished her inspection and declared him well enough. There was a screech overhead, and a dark shadow swept into the firelight.

"Ahh Heru, I know girl," Brant muttered as he fed the hawk a bit of his meal, only to have his fingers nipped in reprimand.

Leonie handed a fire-roasted leg of some animal to Alistair as she sat by him, and he closed his eyes as he ate and she spoke, "I am sorry we were not sooner, _mon frère._ It took some time for Anne-Laure to disable the wards sealing the trap – and to deal with the dakrspawn."

Alistair's stomach groaned at the food, and he blinked lengthily before looking at the mage and clumsily saying, " _Merci_."

" _De rien_ ," Anne-Laure inclined her head, some of the tension leaving her features as she leant into Leonie. There were dark circles under her eyes.

Leonie offered a quick smile to Alistair and said, "That you were both alive and relatively unhurt, it is a blessing. It would have been a shame to do all that work to find your corpses, _non_?"

Anne-Laure licked her lips, furrowing her brow before glancing at Brant, "To Cumberland?"

Inhaling deeply, Brant lay back, savouring the breeze through his shaggy hair as he ate a torn piece of meat, "I don't know. The Pentaghast curator will be waiting for me. I'd rather not have to tell him to go shove it up his arse."

Anne-Laure wrinkled her nose, and Brant inclined his head as he quickly said something in Orlesian. She nodded her head and parted her hands, looking at Leonie.

"It may be worthwhile, if you wish to come," Leonie said, before turning to Alistair, "Keep you from suffering at the hands of two _belle femmes_?"

"Who am I to turn it down," Alistair murmured, tearing a piece off the bone, "I know I need all the help I can get."

 

* * *

 

The woman screamed as the darkspawn dragged her to the ground, and the hairs on Neria's neck stood on end. An arrow flew past her as she stepped halfway into the Fade and launched back at the creatures. Spinning, she impaled a hurlock, before glancing back to see a young man in shoddy armour let another arrow fly - it pinned the genlock dragging the farmer's wife to the ground.

The dirt swirled white at her feet as she twirled again, the chill radiating off her armour to hamper the throng of darkspawn. Panting hard, Neria's thoughts fuzzed at the edges, and she cried out as she sliced into another genlock, pushing it back, before the magicks at her feet sucked its life away.

Uncorking a vial of lyrium, Neria downed the contents, savouring the tingle and numbness it left on her tongue. With new clarity, lightning leapt off her fingertips, and the guttural cries of the drawkspawn consumed by it shivered through her. When they collapsed to the ground, she saw Anders helping the woman to her feet.

"Blessed Andraste, Judith," the farmer scrambled from where his son restrained him, embracing the woman before kissing her full on the lips. The woman had tears in her eyes, but their lips parted as he pulled her close. "I thought they would take you."

Neria flushed as she pulled her helmet off. The son had an arrow notched, but when he saw her, the bow faltered and he sunk to a knee.

"Warden-Commander!" Judith floundered, pulling from her husband's lips with a creased, joyous smile. She fell to her knees, clutching Neria's hand. "Thank the Maker for you, you have saved me and my family."

"Hardly, your son did his equal share. He is quite adept with the bow. What is your name?"

The young man lift his chin, flustered from the combat as he said, "Matthew Hart, m'lady."

"Stand up," Neria softly laughed. Turning to her companions, she said, "Gather and burn the bodies." She took Matthew's hand and said, "Thank you for helping defend our lands."

"It is an honour to meet you, my lady," Matthew hurriedly said. He was no more than Neria's age, equally young but unseasoned by war.

"The honour is mine," Neria released his hand, brushing a sweat-cloyed strand of pale hair from her forehead. She flashed a showy smile, "Have you been on a bow long?"

"Since he was a boy," the farmer interjected with a chuckle, shouldering his wife closer.

"Let me come with you, m'lady - you have saved my family, I would be a Warden."

"Matthew, no," Judith cupped a hand over her mouth in shame.

Neria's eyes darted to the woman before sizing up the young man, "You have talent, most assuredly. Come with me to the Vigil, and I may assess you further. If you are not suited, the army might always use good men."

"Of course, arlessa," Matthew bowed stiffly, before his eyes looked back up to her.

"Gather your things then," Neria's voice softened, and she turned to his parents, "Your son does you proud. Is there anything else you need assistance with on your lands?"

"No, m'lady," the farmer hurriedly said, squeezing his wife's hand. "You have already done more for us. That you would come to our aide..."

"Good. Then my companions and I will camp at the edge of your lands. I will know if anymore darkspawn trouble the borders - hopefully that was the last of them." Neria glanced at Matthew, "Meet us there at sunrise, best take a bed while you can."

Back by the growing pile of darkspawn, Anders hesitated with a pant and asked her, "How come you never do this?"

"I'm more important than you," Neria murmured, before setting the bodies alight. She turned and walked across the field.

Anders simpered a moment mimicking her, only stopping when Nathaniel hit him, "Oh come on, sour puss, did you see that blush when the farmer kissed his wife?"

"She grows flustered far too easily," Velanna murmured, crossing her arms as she watched Oghren drop the last darkspawn.

* * *

Neria softly laughed and took Zevran's arm as they walked slowly along the battlements.

"See? That is what I have so longed to see."

"Yes, because you are so terrible at muttering obsenities and making me blush."

"It is one of my many talents," Zevran walked with care, testing the weight on his leg.

"How is it feeling?"

"Good - almost as perfect as the rest of me," he sighed, "But alas, I have not been able to tempt the maid close to see. I think you frightened her."

"Siough," Neria shook her head as they paused along the parapet, "More like you terrorizing them."

"I am only the best kind of terror," Zevran said, "Rapturous."

"Zev," she softly laughed, shaking her head again. She traced her hand over the stone, looking down in the ward. Voldrik's workers were assembling for the day. Turning to the morning sun, she crossed to the opposite side of the wall and leant on the parapet to look over the farmlands.

Zevran arched a brow, glancing down her backside as he followed and said, "Quite the view."

Neria's expression had sobered, "It is."

Leaning beside her, Zevran looked along the battlements.

"I wish Alistair was here," she whispered.

Zevran turned around, hip against the stone as he crossed his arms. His expression remained impassive as he closed his eyes.

"I - I am so glad you're here Zev, that's what I mean," Neria looked into her hands, unclasping them. "I just feel like ... things are falling apart. The things we ran into in the mine...

"The more I try to hold it all together, the more it falls apart. Like a sodding carpenter using too much glue. It slips, and you're just left with a mess and ruin. It's just a mess."

"For your age, you sound far too wise sometimes, _tesaro_ ," Zevran murmured, finally looking at her as he buried his emotion.

"And what about you?"

"Me?" Zevran chuckled, turning to lean against her arm-to-arm, "I am a good few years older than you." He arched a brow, his voice dropping, "And infinitely more experienced."

Neria almost grinned, looking back as the sun broke above the line of trees, and slants of light scattered over the landscape. The crops were golden and green, though many fields were still unplanted. Things were still chaotic. It followed her.

"So you clean off the glue, let it dry, and try again?

Looking down the wall, Neria was silent.

"Perhaps what you need is a good housing joint. Much more firm - and often you can do it without glue at all."

"Maybe we're taking this analogy too far..."

Zevran knuckled his chin before asking with a waggle of his eyebrows, "What were we speaking of again? I get carried away speaking of wood, mm?"

Neria groaned, but the sentiment drew a smile.

Grinning in kind, Zevran took her arm again, "As much as I may like to imagine that you wished my company simply because of how awesome I am - yes, yes I know - you had mentioned something else."

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Neria softly sighed, "The knight who mentioned the conspiracy at the fealty ceremony - she's dead."

"Mm. A poor omen."

"Varel tells me there is someone in the city who might have information - the Dark Wolf. I thought you might enjoy tracking him down to obtain it."

"Oh? This should be good," chuckled Zevran.

"If you need an entourage of guards to get to the city, I can provide a few soldiers - I could even send one of the Wardens, perhaps..." Neria chewed at her bottom lip a moment before saying, "I'm sorry to ask so much. I trust you more than anyone here."

"That is endearing," Zevran said, stride casual as they rounded to the stairs that led back to the courtyard behind the keep, "I landed in Amaranthine when I came to Ferelden," he coughed, "So I should find my way back with ease. Did I not chase you half the way across this frigid country?"

Neria grinned as she admitted, "You did. Maybe you've learnt something then."

"Oh ho," Zevran arched a brow, "I have learnt a good many things."

"Like whether Matthew can fight?"

"His knife play needs work. But he is as good as Nathaniel with a bow," Zevran said.

Neria dropped her chin, "He seems so young to become a Warden."

"Says the _piccolina_ herself."

"What?" she flushed and tried not to laugh.

"You hesitate to recruit someone your own age - you were younger, yes?"

Neria remained quiet as Zevran led them down the stairs, before she said, "He is a good person - I think he has the right character. He is very polite."

"Mm," Zev ruminated. When she looked at him with a raised brow, he added, "I think you have already made your choice."

 

* * *

 

Doubling back along the river, they cut north and emerged out of the forest into the heat of the rolling rangeland that led to the Minanter River. The followed a bare path amidst the dry landscape, passing the odd herd of longhorn cattle and camels as the green faded to gold in the heat. They camped a quiet night, moving slowly the next day before a band of green distance marked the floodplains of the river. The trees rapidly came into focus as they marched closer.

"There is a ferryman here to cross the river," Brant said, drinking deep from his skein, "And usually a fair sized gypsy camp on the far bank."

"We should simply take the bridge on the main road," Leonie said, sniffing in as they trudged. They were drenched with sweat, but the sun had begun its descent, and the few clouds in the sky granted reprieve from its harsh summer rays.

"This will cost a tenth of that - and the bridge is out of our way. We'll switch back to the road when we get closer to the desert."

Leonie made a clipped sound and doubled her pace. Anne-Laure hurried with her, and they walked ahead of the two men, speaking in hushed Orlesian to one another.

Smirking, Brant shrugged at Alistair as they came under the canopy of mangroves, only able to follow one beaten path through their tangle of roots. He puckered his lips at Heru, clicking a soft command to urge the hawk to the sky, "Not one for help, is she."

Alistair cleared his throat before saying, "I think she is used to leading. Or getting her way - I'm not entirely sure which."

"Hopefully it won't keep her from taking what aide is offered us."

When Brant and Alistair came in sight of the riverbank, Leonie already stood with Anne-Laure by an impromptu campfire, plucking the feathers from a scorched duck.

Vaulted on stilts, two houses sat above the shallows, their floating walkways and dock cleared of mangrove roots. A few puffy clouds hung along the wide river, brilliant and deceptive in the bright blue sky. A barefoot, shirtless man in a wrap-around linen skirt was on the steps of the long dock that extended into the river, and his eyes traced Heru as she came to land on her master's glove.

Brant thumbed the hawk's feathers before putting her on his shoulder, and approaching the man, he touched his forehead and spoke in Nevarran, "Good day, my friend. We come to find passage across the river."

"As do most," The ferryman replied, motioning to them, "Come rest your feet and have tea. I am Eitu."

Smiling Brant assented and introduced himself, nodding for Alistair to follow as they went down the dock.

"I may only travel at dawn and dusk," Eitu led across one of the floating walkways to where a bench overlooked the shoreline, an awning keeping it in the shade, "The sappers have been bad this season."

"A shame."

"You are from the south?"

Brant nodded as he sat, Alistair awkwardly joining him, "Yes, though my friend from even farther."

"And the women?"

"They are Orlesian," Brant smirked.

"That certainly says enough," Eitu said, and they exchanged a glance before laughing. He excused himself into the house, returning with a few clay cups and a pitcher of cold tea. Running a hand over his short, dark hair he spoke to Alistair as he said, "You are certainly quiet, friend."

"He is from Ferelden," Brant quickly said, grinning at Alistair, "He does not speak our tongue." He switched, "He asks of you, and of Leonie and Anne-Laure."

"Ah," Alistair raised his glass, nodding in thanks as he drank of it, "Thank him for the drink."

"This is good mateh, thank you for your hospitality," Brant raised his glass in kind.

"By the Maker's graces," Eitu said before drinking. "It is ten sovereigns to take the lot of you."

"Ten, that is steep, good friend."

"It is a dangerous crossing," Eitu smacked his lips, "And the closest bridge is two days to the west."

Brant chuckled, flashing the token on his belt, "Surely you could make an exception for us, my friend - we are Grey Wardens. My friend here is the fabled Hero of Ferelden himself."

Eitu looked at Alistair, who merely coughed, partially choking on his tea as he glanced away, oblivious to the conversation. "Travellers say the hero is a woman - and an elf at that."

"Hardly, no - but he is often confused for one, far too pretty for his own good," Brant laughed, clapping Alistair on the shoulder, speaking in the king's tongue, "He thinks you're cute."

Alistair furrowed his brow, cheeks flushing, "What?"

Brant waved a hand as he leant on the other knee, speaking to Eitu, "See? Just like a girl." They laughed again.

Finishing their drinks, Brant settled on five gold before heading towards Leonie's camp with Alistair. Heru fluttered her wings as they moved, and a breeze came off the river through the mangroves.

"Your dashing looks got us a deal," Brant grinned devilishly.

Dubious as ever, Alistair murmured, "Maker's breath, I don't know if I should be flattered or disgusted."

Eyes sparkling, Brant's hearty laughter was too much for his hawk, and the elegant raptor took off into the trees.


	9. Wild Things

Eitu shook his head at Alistair, motioning along his body and speaking in what was becoming familiar as the Nevarran dialect.

"What? What did I do?" Alistair asked, looking for a spill.

Leonie lashed her shield and sword to the hull of the boat as she said, "Take off your armour. In case we capsize."

"Oh," Alistair tried a smile and nodded to Eitu.

Brant came to help him speed up, "It also keeps the weight in the belly of the boat."

Down the river, the sun dipped low in the sky, casting violet and orange hues on the water. The light filtered through the tall mangroves, and sparkled off the calm ripples. As soon as the last cargo was loaded, the ferryman pushed off, guiding them through the shallows with a pole. The clear water moved slowly amidst the roots and verdant water plants, and as they moved across the thalweg, Eitu switched to a wide paddle, using the current to push them across. He watched the waters, lips in a stern line.

The breeze that came off the water smelled of mud and summer blossoms, sweet in their own way. A flurry of wings passed overhead, the gulls wings shadowed in the failing light.

Brant nodded ahead, sitting beside Alistair, "There – the camp, you can see the fires through the trees. We'll be in the shallows soon enough."

"I don't know," Alistair said, leaning on the gunwale as he grinned, "This is kind of nice, couldn't we just take the river?"

In the midst of switching back to his pole to guide them in the cluttered shallows, Eitu's head turned as a hiss of sound came across the water. A halo of light illuminated Anne-Laure's face as it contorted in pain, and the woman cried out.

"You didn't tell me you had a mage," Eitu snapped, glaring at Brant as he scrambled into position on the boat.

"What is happening to her?" Leonie frowned, looking between them as she reached her companion.

Anne-Laure was a beacon in the dark, her eyes glowing as she cried out.

"I didn't want to concern you," Brant hurriedly said, looking for the second pole that the ferryman pointed at.

"What is it?" Alistair asked, looking down river, straining in the twilight. A hiss evolved into a shriek that made his neck twitch.

"Andraste's blood, you didn't think it worth my while?" Eitu stuck the pole into the mud, pushing as the boat turned in the current, half-caught over the deep water and the wide oyster-leaves of the plants that clogged the shallows. "I damned well told you sappers were a problem!"

"Sappers," Brant said in the king's tongue, leaning into the pole to push and redirect the boat in the current, straining to make it into the shallows, "They feed off mages."

There was a wet slap against the edge of the boat, and a sucking sound jarred it, splashing water over them as the boat rocked. Anne-Laure clutched her face, screaming in her native tongue as a bluish haze rose on her skin, a doppelganger of her contorted features in the miasma. A reply of hissing screeches echoed over the river as the boat tipped.

Tossed into the tepid water, Eitu scrambled to gain control of the boat as a webbed limb from the creature struck the wood. Alistair sputtered water and found the riverbed – just barely. The glow on Anne-Laure's skin had grown, an aura as she thrashed in the water, silhouetting the slick-skinned animal.

" _Ne sais pas nager_!" Leonie choked on the water, shrieking as Brant pulled her into the shallows. She found her footing and screamed for the mage, who clung to the edge of the boat. Another sapper appeared, and there was the crack of glass as a lyrium vial on her belt broke, leaving a glowing slick beading on the water – it sent them into a frenzy.

Eitu called to the shore as the plant he held ripped out, the tenuous grip on his livelihood bruising his fingertips. The sounds of choking water and Leonie sputtering in vain beyond reach faded, and Alistair clutched his hands in prayer, the vision of Anne-Laure's glowing eyes triggering in his thoughts.

The righteous fire blossomed in his chest, and Alistair swept his arms through the water as the nimbus burst in brilliant white. The sappers screamed, and Anne-Laure went limp in the water.

"Alistair!" Leonie screamed, pulling from Brant's grasp, only serving to sputter in the deepening water.

Huffing a breath, Alistair dove towards Anne-Laure, catching her hand as the sappers pushed her body with their nimble fins. They snapped at one another, splashing to snag the lyrium as the haze of light vanished.

Eitu slapped his hand on the boat, kicking strong in the water to flip it and pull it into the shallows as Alistair swam closer, cradling the mage to him. They made it amidst the mangroves, and Leonie nearly wept as she reached for Anne-Laure.

"I'll carry her out," Alistair said, supporting the small woman as they waded through the mud after the fast-footed ferryman.

"Thank the Maker for you, Alistair," Leonie whispered, sloshing through the water after him.

Anne-Laure touched Leonie's cheek as she came to, lying soggy on the shore. Brant retrieved their gear, relieved of a few more sovereigns as Eitu left to the dock in a fury. Alistair sat down heavily, dripping himself a puddle as he lay back and exhaled.

"Lucky thinking there, Alistair," Brant said under his breath as he tossed a bunch of their gear down, "I think I'll get the rest in the morning." He wobbled off to speak with one of the gypsies and make camp.

Farther down the river, they found the clearing indicated for them to make camp, well away from the communal bonfires of the gypsy encampment. Anne-Laure was soon fast asleep, the sucker punctures and bruising on her neck and legs bandaged. She had whispered sweetly to Leonie before slipping into sleep. When Brant disappeared into the hills to catch their dinner, the Orlesian lieutenant sat at Alistair's side by the fire. He was staring blankly at the flames, clad in the only dry trousers he had.

"I don't think I can thank you enough," Leonie demurely said, draping her arms around her knees.

"There is no need," Alistair said, hand falling away from the pendant still thankfully about his neck, "You are – how does it go? Ma soo-eur."

Leonie's expression lost its crease as she laughed and corrected, " _Oui, vos soeurs_."

"Vos soo-eur."

"No," Leonie put the back of her hand over her grin, "You would say _mes soeurs."_

Licking his lips, Alistair flicked a twig into the fire and said, "My dear Grey Warden brethren it is."

" _Bien bien_ ," Leonie said with an uncharacteristic grin.

They warmed by the fire as the stars emerged in the clear sky, accompanied by a Cheshire moon. Checking on Anne-Laure again, Leonie came back and drew a soggy bit from her pack.

"Have you had chocolat?" she asked, tossing the wet paper into the fire.

"On the rare occasion." When Leonie raised a brow, Alistair continued, "During the Blight I travelled with an Orlesian – a bard, actually – who had quite the fancy for it."

Leonie watched him as she broke the confection, "Truly? Well, we must eat this, lest it spoil."

The small bar snapped with ease, and Alistair rolled the dark treat on his tongue.

"Anne-Laure and I shared the same Joining," Leonie quietly said, glancing at the mage in the roll nearby as she shaved the chocolat with her teeth. "We have been together ever since we two survived it."

"You are lucky," Alistair quietly said.

"Yes, I know it." Leonie glanced at him, before her eyes dropped to the fire, "The chevalier who was recruited along with me did not make it."

"You were a chevalier?"

A flicker of pride refined Leonie's features, " _Oui_ , of the best. To be a woman and become one of my country's finest… you must be better than all the men. But this is something I am certain you understand – a templar must be better than his equals even. Such piety to serve the Maker."

Alistair coughed and smirked, "Yes well, I never actually took the rites. Duncan, the former Commander in Ferelden, recruited me before I did."

"I have heard of him," Leonie said, eyes turning as Brant walked back into the firelight, dangling two skinned rabbits. "He is fondly remembered by many of _les Gardes des Ombres_ in Val Royeaux. They spoke of the time he was once with us – before he returned to Ferelden."

"Hungry, I hope?" Brant said with a sigh, setting the rabbits over the fire.

* * *

"Why will you not bring me?"

"I wish you to continue to train here, Velanna," Neria said as she double-checked the integrity of her vials. Putting the belt down, she lifted her arms as the young squire ducked to secure her armour. "You and Matthew will work with Captain Garavel."

Velanna made a frustrated sound, glaring at the boy as he retrieved another piece of the Warden-Commander's shined armour, "You condemn me to stay here in these walls of stone, surrounded by filthy shemlen, Commander."

"Thank you, Damon, you may go," Neria offered the boy a smile, and he bowed before hurrying away. Her expression hardened as she looked at Velanna, "I will not have you speaking of humans in such a manner if you desire to serve under me and the banner of the Grey."

"What?" Velanna drew back, crossing her arms.

"I know you are not used to them – I know you have been through hardship at their hand," Neria's voice softened.

"Do not speak of such things," Velanna said in a hush, bristling, "You have no idea. You and that Antivan are barely kin."

Neria's brow briefly furrowed as she buckled her sheath on, "Are you such a paragon of your people, Velanna? Ever since coming to the Keep, you have made no effort to accommodate anyone - you live with the expectation that all concessions come to you. You expect us - elves - to be treated as equals while spitting on all others."

"I -"

"I am leaving you here so you may grow better accustomed to the new way of life you seek to pledge yourself to," Neria said with a sigh.

"I see," Velanna quietly said.

"I know you seek to be a Grey Warden to track your sister in the Deep Roads, but I expect you to see what other obligations the duty brings before you undergo the Joining with Matthew."

"But time is wasting," Velanna wrapped her arms around herself, her chin dropping. "I don't know what that monster is doing to her."

"Be strong," Neria tentatively touched the woman's arm, and Velanna shuddered before hardening. "I do not think he intended to harm her."

"There are worse things than death," Velanna murmured.

Swallowing her words, Neria retrieved her satchel, "You'll find her. All in time. For now, patrol the surrounding lands with the Captain and Matthew - get to know them, get to know the guards. Be an example and live up to the name you seek." She grinned, "You don't have to remind everyone that they're better than you."

"What, I -" Velanna peered at her a moment before she said, "That's a joke, isn't it?"

"Yes," Neria slightly laughed. "Just think, I could be leaving Anders with you instead?"

"Thank the Creators," Velanna put a hand to her brow, meeting Neria's gaze again as she weakly smiled.

* * *

"So you hope to find a Grey Warden here?"

Neria rubbed a salve over her aching hands. They'd killed a large group of darkspawn on the way to the marsh, and now camped in the hills on its periphery. She had tired herself honing the blade into the night. She looked across the estuary to where she could see a hint of green glow.

"I do," she quietly said, looking down into the fire. "One that came over from Orlsais."

Nathaniel leaned back against his pack, straining to watch her in the low light, "Did you know him."

"I met him in brief," Neria said, undoing her belt and satchel to slouch further. There were dark circles under her eyes. "I'd just be glad not to have lost them all to that... that creature."

"The one you dreamt of," Nathaniel prodded.

Neria's nostrils flared and she tucked her chin down, pale tresses falling over about her cheeks. She had not dreamt of the creature, the magus darkspawn, since they had escaped the silverite mine. She had not dreamt at all, the Fade as elusive as rest. It was wearing her thin.

The distant howl of wolves echoed across the misted hills, seeming confined by the clouds.

"I understand if you don't wish to speak of it," he relented, passing her a skein of wine, "Here."

"I am not accustomed to discussing such things," Neria cautiously said, the skein falling heavy into her lap as she took a deep drink. It brought a flush to her skin and she looked at the overcast sky.

"I dream of many things," Nathaniel slowly said, "Horrific things with the darkspawn - like I am one of them. Like they are half-formed memories. And I dream of my father."

Neria took up the wine again, eyes turning to him before she passed the drink back, "I - I am sorry for what happened, Nate. I've had to do a lot of terrible things."

"Please don't, you have apologized enough," He furrowed his brow, "I keep learning more - about him, about you... and it was for the best, I am certain."

Were there things in life for the best, she thought. Or perhaps life simply was. She had seen the Prophet Andraste's ashes, and she doubted a righteous path? How many died at her behest, at the hands of her armies - all in the name of what was best?

Nathaniel planted a hand in the dirt, shuffling to sit beside her in the dark as he stirred the fire, and the wood cracked. He looked up to the sky before saying, "I trust you, Neria. I just want you to know that... you can trust me."

The elf's eyes were on movement in the shadows though, and Neria put a hand on Nathaniel's shoulder as she stood up. The bristle of fur reflected the edges of the firelight, and she summoned the cold at her fingertips as the pack of wolves darted into camp.

The blighted wolf yelped as its legs froze, and it twisted in the spot, snarling foam as it cracked the ice. Another wolf launched at Neria as she reached for her sword - realizing too late it lay by the fire. Her arm caught in the beasts jaws, and with a jerk she was tussled on the ground.

Striving to ready his bow, Nathaniel scrambled around the fire, his dagger slashing across one of the wolves. The knife bit deep, and blackened blood spilt on the ground as it shook its head, rounding at him again only to be taken out by an arrow.

Neria buckled into a ball, fingers in her hair to keep her face covered as another wolf pinned her, their jaws ripping at her robes. When one of their jaws caught in her skin, she screamed, rolling through their legs to claw the ground. The vicious growl was in her ears as paws hit her back, slathering teeth and claws pulling her through the dirt and slashing down her skin.

Struggling with the tangle of his tent flap, Anders stumbled half-naked to his feet, trying to shake the sleep from his eyes. Staff in hand, fire erupted along the ground and caught the blight wolves pinning Neria - igniting her robes as well and drawing another pained shriek.

"Maker's balls," he cursed, swinging his stave to batter one of the wolves as it advanced, an arrow soon following to pin it to the ground.

The creature yelped, and the remaining pair of wolves retreated from the fires. Hot on their heels, Nathaniel followed them into the swamp, his taut bow preventing their escape.

"Andraste's tits, can you scream, woman," Anders panted, cringing as a shudder of sound came from Neria. "Sodding hell, sorry - sorry, no no, stop - stop!"

Neria fell back against the ground when Anders caught her shoulders, shuddering and part way into shock. He cursed more quietly as he turned to her things and found the dagger there, cutting open her half-burnt robes.

"Nathaniel!" Anders hissed, emptying out the nearest pack to find a salve. The cooling concoction smeared over one of the wounds, bubbling as the tainted saliva dripped from it.

Sucking in a breath, Neria made a sound part laugh and part cry, trying to move again as she finally saw the sky. Her eyes watered and she nearly blacked out from the pain as Nathaniel took her hand and forced her back down.

"Don't move, Neria. Anders will fix you right up."

Shuddering as the magic finally took hold, the lacerations criss-crossing Neria's frame knit shut, and she went limp against the ground. The grip she had on Nathaniel's hand let up, and she shivered. The edges of her hair were scorched, burnt shorter, and Anders wrapped a poultice around one of the stubborn gashes, before a blanket was wrapped around her.

"Thanks for that, Anders," she whispered, testing her hands.

Shaking his hair back, Anders scoffed lightly and retied the ponytail at the nape of his neck, "Sarcasm already? I guess you weren't hurt too badly then."

Nathaniel sat down by her, offering a water skein as he said, "And what were you trying to do? Finish her off?"

"Next time I'll be sure to let the wild creatures eat her face while I devise a friendly, safe plan of attack," Anders said, "I got rid of all those wolves, didn't I? Can't you smell the burnt fur?"

"You could have killed her!"

Neria swallowed another gulp of water, trying to sit up as she weakly said, "Nate, calm down. It's not like I haven't caught either of you in my crossfire, so to speak."

"She's given you the cold shoulder as much as I," Anders murmured.

Nathaniel scoffed and tossed his bow amidst their things, pulling to his feet, "Where's Oghren?"

"Still snoring, from the sounds," Anders replied, reaching for a lyrium vial he spied. Taking a quick sip, he gave Neria an appraising glance. "How are you feeling?"

Across the camp, Oghren's tent swayed as Nathaniel kicked one of the poles and loudly said, "Dwarf! Get up. You're on body burning duty." A beleaguered groan replied.

"I'll survive," Neria softly said, glancing at Anders as she pulled the blanket tighter. The summer night suddenly wasn't so warm.

"Well that's a relief," he offered the vial to her, and it was quickly palmed. He watched as the thick, blue liquid found her lips. "Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll find some pants. Unless you prefer otherwise? No? No, didn't think so."


	10. The Blackmarsh

"I don't like this place."

Journal open in her arms, Neria scarce pulled her gaze from the brilliant green flames, feeling the tug of the tear in the Veil deep inside as she murmured, "So you keep saying."

Rolling his shoulders, Anders said with a moue, "Yes, well I just wanted to make it abundantly clear."

"It's just like all the stories I heard as a child," Nathaniel whispered, scanning the landscape. Dawn had brought barely any light to the haunted landscape, and there were no sounds of nature to put a person at ease. "Like the very land is trying to usher you away."

Oghren grunted, crossing his arms as he looked down and kicked the dead creature, "Ugly things, anyway."

"Werewolves," Neria said, and the men looked at her oddly. "Blighted werewolves."

"You say that so casually," Anders murmured, flexing his fingers on his staff as he looked around.

"Come on," she almost grinned, motioning them deeper past the dead trees and green fire. "I apologize, I just have never seen any fire like this – nor read of it. Such direct tears, it's fascinating."

"My better judgement says to bugger off, personally," Anders replied.

"We've come this far, it's obvious Kristoff was here."

"What do you think these are," Oghren said, eye-level with an empty chrysalis-like sac. "Smells like that nest did…"

Neria's skin crawled, and the itch in her stomach reasserted itself with a sickening twist. Her companions turned at the presence, and a shriek of hunger filled the air. A clutch of the pods some yards away burst, and sharp teeth gnashed as the slug-like spawn emerged.

"Sweet Andraste," Anders furrowed his brow, tugging out his staff. An effusion of light ensorcelled his arms as he reached for the heavens. Fire rushed up from the ground, bursting through the wailing slugs, sending bits of singed flesh into the air. The nearby trees caught, and it was only the soggy ground that kept the inferno from spreading.

The chitinous grubs clawed towards them, the smell of their burning skin rank in the air. Neria stumbled back, braced behind her shield. Digging in, she stabbed one of the creatures, slicing into its corpulent bulk. An arrow whizzed by, and slicing open the creature's face, she saw a round of darkspawn hemming them in.

"More come," she cried, shuddering as one of the grubs knocked her down, maw clattering at her armour to find purchase. Neria rolled, shucking it with her shield before she was back on her feet.

Drawing the power tangibly between her fingers, the light rippled off of Neria like water, and with a hiss of arcanum, the ground at her feet swam into a shifting whorl of brilliant colour. The draw on her will hit her in the chest, and she huffed out as first fire, and then crackles of lightning leapt upon the grubs and darkspawn around her.

Oghren cursed as an arrow clipped him, using the rage it enticed to batter through the genlock at his side. He backed up against Neria, who was in the midst of downing a lyrium vial. They were ushered deeper into the swamp, and beneath the hazy twilight of the accursed land, an estuary came into view.

The childer were slain, and the other darkspawn dispersed. Neria summoned a spellwisp as they came upon an abandoned house. She could still feel the sickly presence of the darkspawn down shore from them. It was then she saw the body on the path.

"No," she whispered, dropping to a knee alongside the man as she flipped him over. She put a wrist to her nose, the scent of decay fresh as she saw Kristoff's sunken features. There was a Grey Warden token on his belt.

"The Mother said you would come if he was slain."

Nathaniel's bow snapped, and a hurlock dropped alongside the barefaced darkspawn that spoke. Neria was on her feet, sword at the ready. The troop of tainted beings hung back from their obvious leader, eagerly shifting as they sensed the Grey Wardens. They listened, they waited - they did not attack with a seething hate and thoughtless ire.

"The Mother was right - the Mother is always right."

"Vile creature," she boldly said. "Do you - are you with... him?"

The darkspawn snarled inwardly, "I here before you is the First - the Mother's. The Mother will not have you further his plans."

"The Mother," Anders murmured, glancing at the childer that filled in the ranks of the darkspawn, "Creepy."

"Who is the Mother?"

"She has saves us from the Father - the Mother sends me with a gift for you, Grey Warden," the First rumbled, and his eyes fell from to the palm of his hand, where a whorl of mist erupted. The darkspawn around him itched into a frenzy.

Time slowed as Neria's jaw dropped, and an all too familiar sensation bled to her fingertips, ripping her through the Veil and tossing her into the hazy brightness of the Fade.

* * *

The city hugged close, a kind companion with plenty of shadow. The reek of bodies, poverty, and filth were a familiar one, and the high heat of noon brought out all the delicacies as the stench cooked. Zevran walked with a cloth drawn over his face - not for the smell, no, it was one of the few things that had reminded him of Antiva City - but for the rumour of plague in the streets.

None the less, he caught sight of the street performers by the northern gate. A small crowd was gathered to watch the man balance and juggle the batons of fire. Children's eyes followed him, squealing as he teetered and the flames vainly tried to lick up his side, but the volley of torches continued. Behind them stood a man in an unassuming helm, his arms crossed as he lingered and paid no heed to the performer.

Shrugging his cloak forward, Zevran sank along the outer wall and he fell into the loose fabric of his scarf and slouched. The wooden fence beside him partially concealed his presence, and another twirl of fire swept up into the air.

He had paid a child a silver to learn of this man - this Dark Wolf that was so conspicuous as to meet the same place at the same time of day. A supposed deviant, he made himself a merchant, available and visible, plying the wares of his knowledge to whomever might find the coin.

Another type of whore, and one without the expected discretion. In front of the children, at that, Zevran thought. Amateur.

It was not long before the suspicious knight turned from the city's northern gates and assumed a meandering patrol. Zevran followed with a peculiar gait, blending amidst the markets to follow the man as he spoke with denizens in alleys and eventually found his way to the battlements. The shadows were lengthening, and the markets in the street were closing shop for the eve.

Ser Wolf led to a lone turret, and the battlements ended at its curved edge, a narrow staircase leading to the archer's holes. The man pulled a stone from the wall and retrieved some parchment from within as Zevran silently approached.

"You know, my friend, for one with such a curious moniker, you do not try to conceal your actions much at all, mm?"

With a slight of wrist, the knight pushed the stone back in place and righted himself, "Curious indeed, but what cause should you have to follow me?"

Zevran's dagger swayed to his lips, the blade tapped there as he said, "I come on behalf of our sweetest arlessa. Unless I presume false that you are the Dark Wolf?"

The knight relaxed slightly, glancing down the battlement as he said, "I am. I had imagined the Warden-Commander would seek me out herself."

"Alas, her duties tie her hands to save the lands once more," Zevran grinned, stepping absently closer to the man. "But lucky for you, I am here instead."

"An Antivan," the Dark Wolf tilted his head, "Do you profess to be the Crow that travels with the Hero? What proof have I that you come on her behalf?"

Zevran arched a brow as he knocked his hood back, stabbing his dagger secure as he said, "More impressive than your other methods. Have others come for the information Ser Tamra died obtaining?"

"No," the man said, posture rigid. "There is a plot to have her ladyship slain. But I have not the resources to find more."

"I see," Zevran chuckled darkly, strolling next to the man. The knight turned as he lifted his chin, each step urging him closer. His voice was buttered as he smiled, "And what does the price of such help now, mm?"

"Fifty gold sovereigns."

"Rather steep," Zevran arched his brow, reaching to rest his hand beside the Dark Wolf's head, "Perhaps we might come to another arrangement? I am quite skilled."

"I have no need for a guard or assassin," the man sounded affronted.

"Services of another kind, then? My tongue is as fast as my dagger - in more ways than one," Zevran produced a cheshire smile.

"You are mistaken if you think I -"

Zevran pinned the Dark Wolf back against the turret, and his dagger pinched between the folds in the man's armour. Cornered into the shadows of the eaves, no one would see them.

"If you do not wish to enjoy my tongue, let me show you my teeth."

* * *

Heru's clarion echoed off the stone as Alistair slunk back into the shallow cave and shucked his armour. Freed from the leathers, he emptied a water skein and slumped down.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if we still had griffons."

"Let me get right on that, your majesty," Brant said, flourishing a hand as he genuflected.

"Right, if you're going to be like that, I'll just have you carry me instead," Alistair said, pulling off one of his boots and the sock with it. "Your lord demands a piggy back all the way to the Anderfels. And shine my boots too."

Leonie shook her head and cracked the few dry branches they had scrounged to build a fire. It was only to cook the snakes they had trapped, for their location necessitated it be doused as soon as possible.

They were camping on the edge of the rocky hills that led into the Silent Plains, and the golden sandstone cliff they camped against looked out over the parched scrubland. A cache of bandits had momentarily hindered their passage from the river, but they had not survived long. The next day would take them back on the road - the only road through the desert.

There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and Alistair could see for miles around as they chatted and evening slipped into night. The wind was hot and dry on his face, and he often lost track of the conversation as languages mingled. But he looked on - the stuff of books lay ahead. The glow and shadow of the setting sun accented something he eagerly awaited - the dunes.

Since the fall of Dumat in the First Blight, the Silent Plains had progressively dried and become less hospitable. What once were wide grasslands parched, and the small clutch of dunes expanded, consuming land and creating an undulating, ever changing desert. He and Leonie had traded their heavy mail at the insistence of an aged merchant in the gypsy camp as a result - there was no way they would be able to traverse it in such gear.

"I will rest," Anne-Laure said, flashing a quick smile and nod to Alistair before she shuffled to her roll. She had been trying to speak his language more since they had crawled out of the river.

"Go ahead, I'm not too tired," Alistair grinned.

Brant waggled his brow and doused the fire before retiring to his own roll under the open sky. The lee of the cave provided a modicum of cover.

Alistair ruffled a hand through his hair and beard as he walked towards the edge of the cliff. The emerging stars and half-circle moon provided enough light to still see the landscape as he scratched at the hair. He hadn't been able to shave since the river, and it was starting to drive him mad. Water was too valuable, Brant said.

"We have been together some time now," Leonie said, as she took his side.

Alistair dropped his hands, nodding as he said, "Yeah. I still find it hard to believe I'm here."

Leonie chuckled, breaking some hard waybread as she said, "Oh? Here in Nevarra, or simply alive.?There is a reason you and your beloved in Amaranthine still live."

Furrowing his brow, Alistair crossed his arms and looked over the desert. A slight breeze brought in the dry air and fluttered the edges of his shirt.

"You are terrible at keeping secrets, no? They will see this when we make it to Weisshaupt."

Alistair was quiet a while more before he sighed, and his shoulders dropped with the volume of his voice, "Maybe things have been wrong. Maybe there is more than one way to do everything, you know?"

"I am not judging you, Alistair," Leonie touched his arm and nodded, "You have shown the gentleman and good person you are. I have heard many rumours of the First Warden and those in the Anderfels - is it so hard to believe I do not wish to see you thrown to the wolves?"

The ache in his heart tightened his throat, and Alistair whispered, "Do you believe the Blight is over?"

"I do," Leonie said without hesitation. "I can feel it. And so should they."

* * *

"Did you inform the captain of our absence?" Matthew struggled to keep up with Zevran's pace, leading by proxy through the hillscape. It was just before sunrise - they had left in the middle of the night.

"And worry the busy man?"

"I imagine you did not inform the seneschal either?" Velanna followed with an easy gait, eyes tracking the shadows as they hurried along the dirt road.

"I - I don't feel comfortable doing this," Matthew offered, furrowing his brow.

"And yet you came all the same, you act to protect our Warden-Commander despite your misgivings," Zevran flashed a grin. "You said the farm would be near here?"

"Yes, in the next parcel," Matthew replied and pointed.

"Then follow my lead."

Following the fencing of a corral, Zevran led them into the shadow of a line of trees, moving with care amidst the cattle in the field. As they approached the small shack at the edge of the farmstead, he drew his blades, and at a hushed word, Velanna and Matthew readied themselves.

"There - do you recognize that man? He was at the swearing in."

"I - I believe that is Ser Temmerly, the Ox. He is hard to miss," Matthew whispered as they crouched behind a woodpile. "Rumours in at the Vigil say he is the one that killed Ser Tamra. Seneschal Varel let him go."

"I have heard the same and more," Zevran nodded, eyes darting to the door as it opened. The man who came out relinquished a pipe and spoke to the Ox. "Ready your bow. And might you call the woods to aide us?"

"Hmph," Velanna said, even as she readied her staff. At his word, Velanna stood, still hid by the woodpile, and as the ground rumbled, the men by the house turned, only to find roots leap from the ground to entangle them.

Zevran laughed and led them closer as the men cried out. When the door opened again and more men spilt out, a volley of arrows caught two by surprise, and nearly pinned another to the siding. The Antivan was against him, his dagger plunging deep and splitting his belly open.

"What is the meaning of this!" A woman cried, drawing her sword in time to deflect Zevran's aggression and fall back into the house. The walls muted the cries as fire from Velanna's hands lit up the traitors. "You have no right to be here!"

"Ah but Lady Packton, you have plotted the downfall of our beloved arlessa," Zevran said, engaging her again - toying with her more than anything, "Did you think you would escape unscathed?"

The woman's eyes lit with fear as a door slammed out the back of the shack. Zevran glanced and caught the flutter of fine cloth into the morning light. Thinking to use the distraction, Lady Packton attacked him.

Zevran laughed, his feet moving in a well-rehearsed dance to deflect her blows, before his elbow found the bridge of her nose. The woman screamed and dropped her sword, clutching her face. Zevran's sword found her gut, and his dagger across her throat cut the sound short.

" _Chi la fa l'aspetti, signora_."

Lady Packton's sought his eyes, unable to speak as Zevran let her go. She crumpled into her own blood as he sprinted out the back door, in time to see the flank of a horse over the next hill.

"Brasca!"

Stalking back to his companions, Zevran cleaned his sword when he saw the rest of the conspirators dead. Walking amongst them, he kicked the bodies aside, asking Matthew for aide identifying them.

"The prima donna is absent," he groused, expression hardening, "One escaped on horseback. Bann Esmerelle."

Matthew sighed, still shaking from the combat as he said, "I don't see her here."

Zevran looked back over the hills, tugging a cloth to wipe the blood from his face as she said, "Then she will come again. She is the key."

* * *

After a difficult trial in the Fade, they destroyed the pride demon trapping the villagers, and camped near the docks of the abandoned settlement. Neria wandered the marsh with Anders murmuring at her side - finding safety in numbers - as she investigated for vestiges of the former tears that existed.

She could feel the difference in the landscape, and the late afternoon sun was cooking off the mist left from the rains. She could smell the sea when the breeze blew right. It felt better. They camped the night to recuperate, and she woke them before dawn.

Neria sat staring at the dead man. He kept touching everything, sniffing the air, and turning at the shifting sounds - no matter how mundane, most particularly, his own.

"What is that?" Justice asked, tilting his head as he looked at Neria.

"You," she quietly said, wrinkling her nose.

"That smell - it is from this body?"

"Yes."

"It is," the spirit within hesitated, "Unpleasant."

"You can say that again," Anders murmured, grumbling as Oghren walked by and splashed in a puddle.

"It is because it is dead, isn't it," Justice quietly said, looking at Neria again with his milky, immobile eyes.

Neria nodded and said, "I'll think of something. Perfumes... and... and I have a charm that radiates cold. It should help, well, preserve you... It is worse because it is summer." She broke some dried meat into strips as she continued, "I will see what else I might find too - what magic there might be to help."

"Thank you - Neria?"

"Yes, that's it."

"She is also our Warden-Commander," Nathaniel said pacing back from the swamp, where in the distance a spire of smoke rose from the burning bodies.

"There is a ghost of a memory, in a city - one of his, so far as I can tell."

Neria tilted her head, chewing on the salty meat before saying, "I met him in brief."

"Denerim."

Nodding again, Neria retrieved something from the motley of equipment they'd salvaged and extended the helmet to Justice, "It is probably best you wear this at almost all times. Your face will frighten people."

"Yes, Commander."

Neria weakly smiled and began to gather her things, "We will set out shortly." Lashing some odd bits of enchanted armour together, she stood and Justice followed. Anders doused the fire, and in a moment they were off.

Metal clunking over her shoulder, Neria walked alongside Justice and said, "You know mages undergo a trial in the Fade to ensure we will not succumb to demonic possession."

"I can recall a time in the past running into such a person, young - young like you," Justice said, looking back at the path.

"A spirit helped me - you remind me of it," Neria smiled and added, "In the Fade you sounded very similar. Very noble - valorous."

"That is unsurprising."

Neria chuckled and said, "He was making weapons. From what I know now, I think back on it and find it odd that a spirit would fashion weapons. Would you have need for them?"

"A mortal might, though it is as much a curiosity as how you look - you seem a spirit yourself," Justice ruminated a moment before adding, "This world is a mystery. I only know what I have seen in the minds of men, in what my kind fashion in our realm."

With a simple word, Neria dispelled the magic's bound to her and said, "I have... an almost intimate connection with the Fade. It protects me."

The weight of the satchel slowed her pace as they progressed toward the Pilgrim's Path, and Neria fell to the back of their group as Justice strode ahead, devouring the landscape and each difference as they moved. She looked at the ground, a sweat trickling from her temple as the heat of the day increased.

"Here, let me," Nathaniel said, easing the laden pack from her grasp.

"Really, it -" Neria reached as he swung it away, "Thank you, that is very kind."

"Hardly," he replied, trying to find a comfortable place for the weight. It was heavier than he thought. He offered an uncharacteristic grin, "You are our superior, you should make us grunts do the work."

"I will have to remember that," Neria laughed, tapping at her lips before saying, "I'm certain I can think of unpleasant things for Anders and Oghren, at least."

"I heard that," Anders murmured, peering back at her as he stroked the cat in his arms.

"Or something to keep Velanna in a crowd of humans for an afternoon?" Nathaniel offered.

"Nate," Neria's eyes sparkled, "Let's see you say something like that to her face."

"And promptly be blinded," he murmured, "When she makes vines or something sprout from my sockets."

"I doubt she can do anything like that," Neria reassured, still amused. "But it is not always wise to not anger a mage, mm?"

"Mage woman especially," Anders muttered, and he scarce caught the words on Neria's lips, when a chill ascended his leg. His foot was frozen to the ground. "Hey..."

"What's that?" Neria raised a brow, offering a diplomatic smile as she patted ser cat, and they continued on. Ser Pounce-a-Lot leapt from Anders' arms to trot after her, tail flipping sideways.

"You're supposed to be on my side!" Anders tried to move again, muttering before summoning a flame to melt the ice and hurry after them.


	11. Ghosts

"I understand, Varel. Is there no way it can wait till morning?"

"The court has already been delayed, m'lady," Varel stood by as she helped a young squire undo her armour. "We had expected your return much sooner."

Neria smiled at the young elf, producing a silver coin before dismissing him. Her under-armour was sweaty and bloody, and it clung to her smalls as she peeled it off. When the boy was gone, she said, "There were unexpected consequences in the Blackmarsh. But it is land able to be resettled now, certainly that is a boon to my rule?"

"The Blackmarsh? But those lands are haunted, Commander. No one will settle there, it has been some years since we even heard from the village."

"It is haunted no more," Neria firmly said, looking at him as she pulled on emerald robes. His eyes were averted. "Ensure the plaintiffs are well housed and fed, and I will see to court matters in person mid-morning. You will have me all day to do anything you wish."

Varel crossed his arms, bowing as he said, "Of course, m'lady."

"I need the receiving chamber this evening for the Joining."

"I will have the petitioners cleared to guest quarters."

"Thank you," Neria said, hastily pulling a brush through her hair, tying bits in leather as Varel left. She tucked her dagger at the small of her back, before adjusting her sash to conceal it.

Nathaniel knocked on the frame of her door, and she turned as he offered the vials. She had sent Velanna and Matthew in his company to deal with a complaint from a nearby miller. No matter what she did, there were still darkspawn bands terrorizing the lands.

"These will suffice?" he asked.

Neria palmed them, drifting deeper into her chamber to check each in turn, before adding them to the appropriate flask, "The shall. They fought well?"

Nathaniel hesitated by the door, before awkwardly stepping closer, "Yes. Matthew is very bright and respectful. Velanna is also quite talented, but..."

"Considerably less social?" Neria offered.

"To say the least."

Neria lit the oil and set the alembic before glancing back to him, "Gather in the receiving hall. I will be down shortly."

Nathaniel inclined his head, before sweeping out the door. When the solution was prepared, Neria poured the thick liquid into the goblet and descended to where they waited for her. She locked the door behind her, and setting the chalice on the hearth, checked each of the other doors.

"You have both made the choice to reach this point - the lynchpin of what allows one to become a Grey Warden," Neria lifted the chalice in proof. "These words have been said since the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint..."

"Join us brothers and sisters," Nathaniel said, clasping his hands behind him. "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you."

Neria levelled her eyes, "Approach Matthew."

Matthew moved a step back, "We drink darkspawn blood?"

Nathaniel's eyes flickered to Neria as she said, "Yes. It is what gives us our power - it is what enables us to sense and track them. It is how we know when a Blight is coming - for it links us to the archdemon. It links us to the horde."

"I - I didn't know," Matthew said, furrowing his brow. He trailed his fingers along his bow, "I think I'd rather join the army."

"That is not a choice anymore, Matthew," Neria struggled to push strength in her voice, and her stomach turned. "I gave you the option - I did not force this upon you, we are not in a Blight. You accepted my offer to join our order."

"Please, anything but that, m'lady," Matthew's voice trembled, and he took another step back. "Men die from the taint - I saw it with my own eyes during the Blight. It claimed my sister."

"Ridiculous shem, drink the cup. You discredit your kind," Velanna hissed, furrowing her brow.

Neria shook her head, putting down the chalice before stepping closer to Matthew. She saw the fear in his eyes - a fear that harkened back to Ostagar. She reached for him, "There is no turning back, Matthew. Come, drink."

"No, no I won't," Matthew said, stumbling down the steps from the hearth to flip off his bow before racing to one of the doors. The latch held, and he shook the handle before turning around.

Immediately a shimmer of light rose at Neria's feet, and she said again, though her voice weakened, "Come and drink. Join us, Matthew. Join us as you have promised."

"You never said this would be asked of me," He cried, and he fumbled with his bow, "I am my parent's only remaining son, they have lost all the rest. They cannot lose me too. Let me go - let me out of this place!"

"Commander?"

Neria held a hand to Nathaniel, expression crestfallen as she shook her head at Matthew, "It is one of our many secrets. Who would join the Wardens if they knew this?"

Matthew shook his head, trapped against the wall as he looked at her, and when his hands steadied to draw the string taut, "P-please, I don't want to die!"

Neria flung a rock that caught him in the legs. He cried out and buckled, scrambling as a swarm of frigid air enveloped him, and the sound cut off.

"I..I am so sorry, Matthew," Neria froze him again, the cold radiating from her fingertips as she stepped close. His eyes had gone glassy, and the struggle with the ice on his limbs abated. She could only stand there, watching as bits of ice melted and cracked off, water pooling on the floor.

When she turned back, Velanna and Nathaniel's eyes were upon her. She walked with metered steps, swallowing the tremor that threatened each limb. Retrieving the chalice, Neria turned her back on the fire and looked to Velanna as she whispered, "You are asked to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good, Velanna."

Eyes fixed on her Warden-Commander, Velanna took the chalice and said, "Then let it be."

* * *

Nathaniel found her at the pyre on the battlements, standing before the roaring fire in the dark. Approaching on silent steps, he cleared his throat to give away his presence.

Neria dropped her head down, eyes closed and a small book crossed in her arms. Now and then the pregnant sky offered forth a drop, and in the distance, silent flickers of lightning illuminated the clouds.

"Did you need help?" he quietly asked.

"No," Neria whispered, "I will send his ashes to his family. He died honourably in service to the Grey Wardens."

Wrinkling his nose, Nathaniel looked along the rampart. Memories of sunshine and laughter were there, terrorizing his sister as they ran places they didn't belong. His father's reprimand had been swift, tempered by his mother's silken words.

"Why could you not just let him go, Neria?"

Neria noticeably stiffened, and she shook her head, "He forced my hand. He made the decision to join us - I gave him the option of joining the army. But I offered him a place. And he took it... and tried to give it back.

"What if all the arling - if all the country - knew that our members can die so easily from the start. Never mind our shortened lives, our oh-so-pleasant dreams, and spending a lifetime fighting horrors."

"So you make them swear to silence," Nathaniel said.

"Because they have proven their word means so much," Neria said, clamping her lips shut as she looked back at the pyre. She stared at the bright flames a while before asking, "Do you think I want this, Nathaniel?"

"What?"

"I killed a wonderful young man tonight, do you think I wanted to?" Neria snapped, her voice a heated whisper. "A promising fighter, a man with principles and passion for his land. And I killed him."

Nathaniel stood beside her, brow set in a heavy line as he watched the fire.

"I know what you are thinking," Neria whispered, eyes still closed, feeling the heat on her eyelids. "At my Joining, the Warden-Commander killed one of the other recruits when he refused. I can see it in your eyes. I know what you see."

"Do you now?" Nathaniel turned towards her, and Neria put her face in her hand.

"I have other things I must do before the fire burns down," she whispered, the volume her only control to keep in check.

Something cracked within, and Nathaniel took the steps after her, heatedly whispering her name. She shook her head, her pace surprising despite her shorter legs. It was only as she crossed through the entrance hall that he caught her arm. When Neria turned, he saw the tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Nathaniel said, letting go of her, crestfallen. "It is wrong of me to judge you. The situation is ambiguous."

"I should expect it," she hurriedly said, a hand to her brow to try and conceal her eyes, "Everyone else does."

"I don't want to be like everyone else," he said, dropping a hand. "It was difficult to see. You shouldn't have to do such things."

Neria shook her head, her white hair loose about her cheeks as she looked toward the hearth, "I wanted him to drink, so desperately. To take the chance - try and live, to try and..." She covered her mouth and closed her eyes, "He was my age, you know? Would you believe it?"

Nathaniel touched her arm and said, "I have trouble believing you're so young."

"I'm not anymore," she whispered, and her head drifted, eyes still closed, "Why come after me, Nate? You should rest."

"You're upset," he furrowed his brow, "I've never seen you cry."

Looking up, Neria fixated her fatigued, red-rimmed eyes on him, "You haven't known me that lo-"

Nathaniel cut her words off with a kiss, his hand gliding up her shoulder to her neck to draw her close. Neria planted a hand on his chest and pulled away, and her jaw dropped open, cheeks brightly flushed as she unsteadily took a step back.

"Wha..." Neria shook her head, looking away as she blushed darker, "Good night, Nathaniel." Shaking her head, she fled through the door as he called after her.

Up the stairs, she ran smack into Zevran.

"Careful, _tesaro_ ," he chuckled, holding a knife and apple out of her way, "I was coming to find you, we have not had a chance to speak since I-"

"I-I have to go. G-good night," Neria pushed past him, leaving him on the landing watching after her.

Glancing toward the main hall, Zevran cut another piece of apple, and looking in upon Nathaniel, fed the piece off the blade. "It is a curious thing, women running in the night."

Nathaniel turned his head, eyes almost unfocused as he asked, "Did I misread something?"

Zevran shrugged his brow as he said, "I do not know - what have you been reading?"

Finally fixing a gaze on the elf, Nathaniel glared at Zevran, who smiled amicably and pared off another bit of apple to eat with the knife.

"Usually it is only I who makes our dear Warden blush so these days."

"You informed me you were not involved," Nathaniel huffed, still standing with his arms dropped at his sides.

"Yes," Zevran conceded, "But that does not prevent her involvement with another. Surely you have heard the songs?"

Nathaniel shook his head at a loss.

"Of a templar and mage deeply in love saving Ferelden from the Blight?"

Nathaniel's mouth went dry, "No."

Crunching a bit of apple, Zevran mused, "Mm, I see where that may cause problems."

* * *

Resting in their tents through the greatest heat, Alistair emerged with heavy eyes into the late day, the sun low on the horizon. Travelling in the night made sleep difficult, and he often wrapped his head in a cloth to keep out the sun as it beat down. Rationing water, they hoped to reach the oasis that night.

Packed and fed, the road they followed was scarce a road at all, the footprints and tracks in the sand obscured by winds, leaving only the stone markers standing out of the sand to guide across the dunes. Here and then some cobbles were exposed, but otherwise the way was difficult.

In the lee of a rocky slope, the darkened tops of date palms came into view, and Brant patted Alistair's shoulder. Looking up, he saw the moon reflecting off the water.

"Thank the Maker," he whispered, drawing the cloth down from his face as they picked up pace towards the small settlement at the oasis' edge.

Brant greeted a man by the water and negotiated, before pressing some coin into the his hand and shouldering a sack of figs and dates. Turning back, he said, "Drink as much as you want and fill all our skeins."

Alistair knelt on the rocky shore, filling his cup and drinking deep with a sigh. When he'd chugged a fair bit, he sat on his haunches and looked over the small pocket of life amidst the dunes. Exposed rock at the waters edge shone with moonlight as the sliver of open water lapped against it.

Leonie knelt beside him, drawing a knee up as she more leisurely drank.

"Have you ever been this way?"

Shaking her head, Leonie filled her cup again and softly said, "No, I had been to the bridge. We took a different route to the Anderfels."

"But you speak Nevarran?"

"A little. As does Anne-Laure."

Cupping more water, Alistair splashed it over his face, closing his eyes at the cooling relief, "Seems we're lucky Brant came. Somehow I think this would be much more difficult otherwise."

Leonie smirked before drinking more water, "Perhaps."

There was laughter from by the communal fire, and Heru circled, a shadow in the growing dark. When Brant returned, they saddled their burdens and continued on down the road.

They followed the markers as best they could, able to weakly see by the starlight as the night waned. Alistair idly ate some figs, his eyes wandering over the undulating landscape. It was only when he heard her voice that his eyes snapped back.

"Are they good?"

Alistair almost dropped the remaining figs, plucking his lips as he looked at the gold-shimmering apparition and squeaked, "Neria?"

"Of course," she softly laughed, reaching for him, "Who else would look like this? Hmm, I should really give you a shave."

Rubbing his bearded chin, Alistair licked the sticky sweet from his lips as he looked at the Fade-shimmered woman, "Can't... can't spare the water."

"I have oodles at camp," she whispered, offering her hand again as her voice dropped, "I've missed you so much. It's been so hard without you."

Alistair stepped off the road, the sand shifting underfoot as he shook his head and whispered, "I've missed you too." He laughed in disbelief, "You know I hate it when you've got those auras."

Neria looked down, "I know. But I can't risk otherwise, right now. There is danger nearby. We have to go."

"What are you doing here?" Another foot sank into the sand as he stepped closer.

The muted sound of his name came, as though brought on the wind from far away, and then a firm hand caught his arm. Alistair turned with a start and saw Brant, though Neria's voice tugged at the edges of his consciousness.

"Alistair, help me with the women," Brant quickly said, his eyes heavy.

"But," Alistair looked back to where Neria had stood, and soon another shimmer of gold was visible in the distance. Through the dunes, men ran, each ghostly and faded like she had been.

"They are ghosts - we near the tabra of the First Blight. They are ghosts."

Alistair's pulse was in his throat, looking for the curves of Neria's face. It was not her eyes, not her hair, but he had seen her thusly so often. "Ghosts? Does that mean -"

"The Veil is thin. There are tales of the tabra and travellers lost to the desert."

" _Non, non, vous ne pouvez pas_ ," Anne-Laure screamed, shaking her head as she staggered in the sand. There were tears in her eyes. Her next words became incomprehensible, and she clawed at the sand, gathering what wasn't there. When she got to her feet, Alistair and Brant restrained her.

Brant spoke quickly, and Anne-Laure's eyes refocused as she looked back. They were reddened, and she pulled to her feet.

" _Ils l'ont emmenée de moi_."

" _Elle est ici,"_ Brant said, point to where Leonie sat in the sand. The lieutenant looked lost.

" _Pas son_ ," Anne-Laure put the heel of her hand over her eyes, wiping away the tears as she hurried to her partner's side. "Leonie!"

When Leonie saw Anne-Laure, the shadow evaporated from her features and she enveloped the small woman. Smelling her hair, Leonie whispered quickly by her ear before righting herself - realizing Alistair and Brant stood there.

"Come on," Brant quietly said, his eyes down, "Stay close - and ignore them as best you can."

A shadow rose from the next dune, a jagged edge of rock effaced by the desert winds - and as they rounded the marker, the ghostly battlefield revealed itself. Metal clashed in distant echoes, no matter the proximity of the faded fighters that ran by. Alistair stopped as he saw a glimmer of gold across the sky, and a familiar sound clapped over the sands.

"They say it is only at night - and it is intermittent," Brant murmured, following his gaze. "I didn't think it would affect us."

Shredded wings fluttered in the air, ephemeral aura masking the starry sky as griffons were ripped down by an unseen spectre. The way the bodies moved, it was clear they fought a great beast - a great beast wholly absent from the reanimation.

Alistair shook his head, swearing he could see her there amidst the shifting, fading, and crying bodies of battle. There was a sickly feeling in his chest - perverted magic. Sand caught in the wind, and as it rippled over the dunes the figures evaporated - but yet more spectres fought in the distance, an illuminated glow on the crest of a distant dune.

"The tabra is there, we will stop a moment," Brant motioned to the weathered stone obelisk as they approached. The carvings at its fat base were worn by time, the rising dragons and warriors smoothed into something almost mundane.

Anne-Laure summoned a spellwisp, and its golden light shone on the wide kite shield that was the face of the monument. The metal plating on the griffon centred in the middle of it was chipped - as much from thieves as the ablative sands.

"Maybe this is worth what we saw," Alistair quietly said, tracing a hand over the inscription, the letters twice the size of his hand. Another shimmer of gold caught his eye overhead, though the apparition disappeared as quick as it had come. "This looks familiar."

"Arcanum," Anne-Laure said, creases around her eyes, "Mage tongue."

"Ancient Tevinter too," Leonie added, crossing her arms, "It is our motto."

Alistair shivered as he heard Neria scream - he would know it anywhere. It was lost in the resurgence of the battle echo, melee clatter fluttering in the breeze before it was gone.

Expression drawn, Brant glanced at some distant phantom before saying, "We've paid respect enough. We're getting out of here.


	12. That's Pants

"What? Not bringing your favourite archer?" Anders said with grin as he leaned on one of the support beams in the main hall.

"No," Neria flatly said, blushing as she took the dagger from Zevran. The Antivan merely waggled a brow at Anders. "Zevran is more than capable with a bow if one is needed."

"All this and more," Zevran lightly said, helping Neria with a strap on her cuirass, "It is peculiar seeing you in such foreboding armour."

"It is special," she murmured, a hand to her chest as the metal tightened. Wade had nearly squealed when she'd presented him with the ancient armour, and he fashioned the black volcanic aurum to fit her slender form. She had only half-heard the tale the smith spun about it – something of Dumat – as Varel had been close on her heels to get writs and orders for the army signed. "And I like how it feels."

"Oh yes, because that's so very important, demonic women are all the rage in Orlsais," Anders murmured, furrowing his brow. An obsidian dragon's head with glowing eyes stood prominent on Neria's chest, concealing her womanly virtues and drawing the eye to it, "It's really quite creepy. Do you like looking so evil?"

"Fear is power," Zevran conceded, resting on his hip by against the door.

"I like staying alive," Neria said, twirling the winged helm in her hand as she smirked at Anders. "It's enchanted. Wade says it's considerably better than my old suit."

"Come on princess, a woman in armour like that?" Oghren grunted, wiping the ale from his beard as he said, "Hard not to get the nug thumping."

"Would someone mind puncturing an ear? I'm not sure I could live through another one of those mental images," Anders muttered.

Neria sighed and shook her head, her cheeks rosy hued. Seeing the dwarf take another swig, she asked, "Are you drinking already?"

"Gotta keep my strength up."

The morning sun baked the hills as they took the road north to Amaranthine, and Neria took steady steps. Though the armour was peculiarly light on her limbs, the obsidian hue of the metal soaked up the sun's rays. None the less, they were in Amaranthine by just past midday.

"Hey - hey boss."

Neria raised her brow as they took stairs to another quarter.

"You're pretty good with herbs, I seen you making all them things," Oghren sniffed and glanced over his shoulder.

"I have extensively studied various herbal remedies, yes," Neria hesitated at the top of the stairs. "Why?"

Oghren gave Neria a push, hushing her as Anders and Zevran came near, and their curious eyes followed as he coughed and spoke quieter, adjusting his britches, "I didn't think nothing of it first, but it just keeps getting worse and worse."

"I'm going to regret this," Neria murmured before asking, "What keeps getting worse, Oghren?"

"The rash," he loudly whispered, peering at Zevran before saying, "Since I drank that bitter blood. I think it did something to me."

"Are you certain it wasn't Zevran? You keep looking at him - is there something going on I don't know?"

"What?" Oghren swayed a bit, grumbling before saying, "Sodding stone, woman, help a suffering man out."

"Fine, fine," Neria laughed, beckoning to Zevran. Flipping open her journal, she jotted a few notes down before ripping out the page, "Help Oghren buy these?"

"Assist our brave little soldier? How could I resist?"

Oghren made a lewd gesture, and they led off towards the markets.

* * *

"It seems too convenient," Neria quietly said, crossing her arms as they led through the closing stalls. She stood to block Zevran as he knelt in her shadow.

"I think it's too good an opportunity to pass up," Anders replied, swaying on the balls of his feet in anticipation. "You know, this would be a lot quicker if Nathaniel had come."

" _Vaffanculo_ ," Zevran muttered, and there was a click before he slipped the pick back under his cuff.

"Bless you," Anders quipped, hands clasped behind him as he stepped closer to the door.

Slipping into the warehouse under the cover of evening shadows, Zevran clipped the door shut as soon the two mages had joined him. Pausing as he raised a hand, they listen for noise of foul play.

"What are you so worried about," Anders said with a grin, grabbing Neria's arm to urge her across the room as he said, "Can you imagine? No more phylacteries, I can almost taste the fre-"

"I knew you'd be stupid enough to take the bait," a voice came from an antechamber, and as they froze, Ser Rylock and a collection of templars stepped into view. "Who are your friends?"

"What is the meaning of this," Neria lifted her chin and pulled off the black helm, jaw set hard.

"My meaning, _Commander_?" Ser Rylock asked, "You are the ones who trespass."

"These are my lands. It is within my right to investigate suspicious matters for the safety of them and my people."

"Nice cover," Zevran murmured at her side.

"Cut the diplomacy," Ser Rylock replied, motioning to the men at her side. "We have come for that murderous apostate. The Chantry's authority supersedes that of the crown, and I will not allow the Grey Wardens to prevent me from bringing him to justice any longer."

Neria drew her sword in a breath, as did Zevran at her side as she said, "You have no authority over Grey Wardens, mage, apostate, or otherwise."

"Is that a confession to the blood magic you practise then?"

"What the Grey Wardens do is of no concern to you or the Chantry," Neria coolly said, "I have proven my fealty to this country and the Maker in kind. Relinquish your weapons and return to the church, and I will not lodge a formal complaint with the reverent mother."

One of the templars stiffened, "No mage can find peace with the Maker."

Ser Rylock scoffed, her eyes narrowing as she stepped closer, "It is a pity that the arlessa of Amaranthine has taken arms against the Chantry. They will see you for the witch you are."

As Rylock drew her hands together, a flask burst at their feet, and a cloud of sickly green powder vaporized around them. The templars coughed and staggered, the miasma burning their lungs and eyes, and it gave time for Neria and Zevran to engage them.

Swords and armour clashed in the small space, their boots clunking on the wooden ground. A burst of flame erupted behind the templars, and the men cried out, still gaining their footing - only to be met head on by a blast of chill that misted their armour and left the ground walls blackened and extinguished.

In the crush of melee, a white nimbus burst and sent them reeling back. The mage-life sucked from him, Anders collapsed back, stumbling to a knee. Nearly tripping over her dropped helm, Neria shook her head, and blood trickled down her nose as she whipped with her sword again.

One of the templars screamed as Zevran's dagger found its mark, and the Antivan's cruel laughter followed. Rylock swiped Neria with her shield, but the elven mage parried, panting with the fatigue her strained mental state wrought.

Rylock roared with anger as a shimmer of magical manipulation tried to take hold, but pushing through, she met swords with Neria once more. In a decisive move, the elf caught the templar's arm, and her sword stabbed through the weakened mail at her arm. Another blade soon found her back, and Rylock gurgled a failing breath before she was dropped.

"Sorry," Anders panted, leaning heavily on the doorway.

Dabbing the back of her hand to her nose, Neria quietly said, "It's hard to recover from."

"You'd think I'd have gotten used to it by now," he replied.

Stumbling sideways, Neria planted a hand on the wall as she leant and wretched up the contents of her stomach. She groaned and let herself sink onto a half broken chair.

"Are you alright?" Zevran looked up from the bodies, satisfied with their demise.

"Give me a second," she closed her eyes, breathing through her nose. Intuitively, she brought a vial of lyrium to her lips and drained it away. "Check the back."

On her feet again, Neria tore her eyes from the dead templars and noticed a bookcase. Feeling the delicious buzz of the potent draught rise through her spine to encapsulate her mind, it seemed fate that she saw the book on the shelf. Memories of the Deep Roads surfaced, of blue-veined glowing cathedrals and numbness on her fingers - and on her lips. She licked the taste from her lips, feeling the subtle grit of the suspended dust.

Lyrium: the Voice of the Maker.

"I - you stood up for me again," Anders said, his voice betraying the mental fatigue.

Snatching the book from the shelf, Neria called for Zevran before saying, "Thank me later. We must go."

* * *

Spending the evening in her rooms in Amaranthine, Neria roused the men at dawn, much to their dismay. Barely having gone to bed, they followed her back to the Vigil. Oghren nursed some ale, ignoring the rest of them while Anders did his best to address the hangover weighing him down.

The gates of the castle were clotted with a small band of peasants when they arrived midday. Quick words by their arlessa settled tensions and dispersed their concerns, and Varel followed as they made for the steps to the keep.

"I think I may go nap in the sun," Zevran said, raising his face to the sky. "I must soak up all this warmth before it disappears.

"We still have some months," Neria said, grinning. Anders and Oghren had already disappeared into a building in the ward. "I almost miss the cold."

"Hmph," Zevran braided his hair back and wagged a brow at her before disappearing up the ramparts.

"You handled that rather well, Commander. I was worried you would not return in time."

Neria lightly touched Varel's arm, tactfully smiling, "But I did. Though I have no doubt you could have done equally well."

"I would not act without your blessing, my lady."

The soldier by the keep was missing as they ascended the stairs, and Varel pushed open the door to lead in before her.

"I appreciate th-" Neria's words cut off as the seneschal crushed her back against the door. Their armour clattered together and he cried out as a bolt pierced in his arm. Another hit by her head, embedding in the door, and then a woman cursed.

"You idiots! Kill her!"

Neria's eyes flew wide as she rolled, recognizing the 'shick' of freed blades, and turning as Varel slumped, frigid air erupted from her hands and caught two of the advancing assassins. Sprinting back down the hall, another bolt followed her, spearing a painting on the wall.

Pausing to gather her defences, her body hallowed into golden light as another bolt flew, passing through her ephemeral form and sticking into a support pillars. Neria stumbled into the display of her armour, and she pulled it down as she clamoured to the back door. Wrenching the handle, she tripped the trap and a hidden pocket on the door burst with powder.

Floundering in confusion, Neria screamed as she was caught, a brilliant flash of pain up her spine as the dagger buried deep. Half blinded, she summoned will through watery eyes, another flush of ice catching those around her. Shuddering a breath, she choked on the warmth in her throat, and blood spattered in her helmet.

Across the room, Varel panted as blood freely wept from the bolt buried in his arm, but none the less, his sword found purchase and a lady knight found herself split and prone. The Spellweaver swung in Neria's arm, battering back another attacker as she stumbled on, leaving a slick of blood behind her. Closing her eyes, another bolt warped through her half-Faded body, and she flung a rock.

Just then, the side door kicked open, dispersing the remaining gas that hung in the air. A pair of soldiers followed Nathaniel's arrow as it pierced his counterpart assassin, and the crossbow in the man's arms clanked down before he collapsed atop it. It was not long before the last traitor fell.

Neria let herself fall to one knee, ripping off her helm as the adrenaline ebbed, and the true pain of her injuries surfaced. The helmet clunked across the stone floor. as she wheezed.

"Neria," Nathaniel reached for her as she slumped forward, coughing up another spat of blood.

"Anders," she scarce croaked, "Get Anders."

"No, I-"

"Nate," Neria wheezed, pushing him away and trying to keep the blackness from the edge of her vision. "Get him for Varel."

"Yes, Commander…" Nathaniel looked at her once more, sprinting towards the main doors.

Neria fell face-first on the ground, struggling to breathe as the light dimmed.

The hushed sounds of Zevran and Nathaniel's argumentative voices under rode the pleasing rush of air as Neria found herself able to fully breath again.

"Hey," Anders whispered, "How's that?"

"Where's Varel?" Neria murmured, a hand firm on shoulder as she tried to move. Her vision swam, half-blurry.

"Do not move, _tesaro_."

"I'm fine, my lady," came the seneschal's reply.

Neria smiled as she tried to focused, "You took an arrow for me."

"It is my duty and privilege," Varel replied, eyes softening as Neria touched his hand. "I am sorry to say it was Bann Esmerelle. They are all dead now, however."

"And Crows," Zevran said, furrowing his brow as he looked at Nathaniel.

Sighing, Neria rest her head back on the ground, "How was the hall empty? Where was everyone?"

Zevran rose from his knee, "Indeed, Nathaniel, where?"

"I cannot be everywhere at once," Nathaniel defensively said.

"Then be where you are needed," Zevran shot back as the archer turned to help a guard with the bodies. Glancing at Neria, he said, "I will find out how they got in."

Neria closed her eyes, a deep-rooted pain still throbbing through her ribs. She couldn't breath deeply. Hearing booted steps move away, she whispered, "Would it be too much to ask someone to help me to a bed?"

* * *

"Hey. Hey you. You." Oghren belched and swayed.

Adding a flourish to the parchment, Neria handed the quill back to Varel as she murmured, "That's Commander Hey You, by the way."

Oghren sniggered and planted a hand on the cask behind him, "I see what you're doing. Getting into my head."

"You know me," Neria shook her head at Varel as he asked something.

"Yeah. But I'm onto you."

Neria levelled a stare at the Oghren, who tried his best to narrow his eyes and peer back at her. Finally the elf sighed and said to Varel, "Allocate the funds needed to retrieve the ore. We don't know how much time we have."

"Yes, my lady," he crossed his arms and disappeared through one of the auxiliary doors of the receiving chamber, as Oghren fell back to the ground.

Neria walked out of the keep without a second glance, moving with care for the pain up her back.

"Commander - there's a letter for you, posted from Nevarra."

Stopping by the girl, Neria's expression lightened as she took the stained, sealed letter, "Nevarra?"

"Yes, m'lady, came through the city."

Sweeping by the merchants, Neria clutched the letter to her breast, the world suddenly losing its focus.

"No, no - pants," Anders said, "I want any extra trousers you - Neria!"

Stopping at the sound of her name, the elf turned.

"Can our practise wait fifteen minutes or so?"

The gears turned slowly, and Neria traced her fingers over the ridges of the letter's waxen seal before she went, "Oh! Yes - yes, of course. Make it a half hour."

Quick steps swept her along the ramparts, and Neria nodded courteously to the guards she passed, ever aware of the way the parchment nicked into her worn fingers. Finally, she descended into the courtyard behind the keep, and disappeared into the garden.

Clutching her side, Neria eased to a stone bench amidst the beanpoles and heather. Her magic had done little to ease the pain the assassin had inflicted, and it was still difficult to move and breathe. The hot summer sun beat down as she cracked the wax and unfolded the letter, putting a hand over her mouth as she saw his writing.

 _Dear Hero Warden-Commander of Ferelden,_

 _It must seem terribly odd that I would write that, but I thought it might make you smile. I know it does me when I think of it - when I think of how proud Duncan would be._

 _We landed in Cumberland a few days ago after the absolute worst experience of my life. Don't ever sail. Anywhere. I think I can still feel the ground moving most days. The Circle is meeting for the College, and there's so much going on. I wish you could be here._

 _Actually, thinking on my recent advice, I much rather wish I were there._

Neria softly laughed, her hand trembling as she smeared the tears from her cheek. She put the letter in her lap a moment, blinking up into the sunlight as she trembled. It took a moment for the blur in her eyes to clear.

 _So much reminds me of you, love, and I wish more than anything that I could have you in my arms. I have not heard much news from Ferelden, but I wish you the best in Amaranthine. I know you are strong, wonderful, and beautiful, and will do all you possibly can - I know you'll set things right._

 _We leave the city to march north towards the river soon, and from there we'll travel through the Silent Plains. I've met some good people here. I think you'd like them._

 _I do not know when or if I'll be able to send a letter to you again. Remember the time in the garden, when the snow first melted? Or Feast Day in the alienage? I think of these and so much more, and I can see your face so clearly._

 _My heart is ever yours, and I love you as much as I did so long ago when we thought the world would end for sure._

 _May the Maker watch over you._

 _~ Alistair_

A heady-scented breeze through the garden rippled the parchment as Neria fiddled with the pendant around her neck. Dropping her hand in her lap, she stared at the letter for some time. She looked at the neat curves and loops of his cursive. He had said it was because of the Chantry - of how he had spent nights copying tomes as punishment.

Neria sniffed as she closed her eyes, folding the letter to smell the parchment.

She wanted so desperately to smell him.

From across the garden she heard a soft curse, "Andraste's flaming sword, where did she go now. I'm bloody well going to hear it, aren't I…"

Clearing her throat, Neria called out, "I'm here, Anders,"

"Of course you are!"

Neria tucked her handkerchief away as he found her, and his mischievous expression faded.

"Are you alright?"

"Oh yes," she sniffed a few times, waving the letter still clasped in her hand as she said, "It must be something in the garden."

"Fun," he said, before his eyes darted and he reached for the letter, "What have you got there."

"Nothing of your concern," Neria squeaked as she stood up, and when she tried to slip the letter in her robe, Anders snatched it.

"A letter, my my," Anders wagged his eyebrows, "Our sultry Warden-Commander adored by admi-"

"Just give it to me," Neria flatly said, her features distressed, and when her reddened eyes bore tears again, she was able to take the letter back. "Please stop."

"I – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"No, I know," Neria said, putting a hand over her eyes and supporting the arm with her other. "It's… it's from Alistair."

"The pike-twirler?"

Neria's cheeks reddened darker, "Not you too!"

"What, Oghren called him that, I thought – ohhh… Oghren. Right." Anders grinned sheepishly before laughing, "Sorry, here you are crying and I'm laughing. That bastard of a runt."

"He's terrible," she stuffily said, both her hands running up over her face.

Anders squeezed an arm around her shoulders, sighing as he said, "That he is, that he is. Perhaps - I might have just the thing to chase away those tears, though."

"Oh? Not an unwashed cat, I hope."

A dubious line furrowing his brow, Anders said, "Ser Pounce-a-Lot washes himself just fine. No, I am speaking of some other unwashed creature."

"Are you trying to get out of our magical training?" Neria sniffed in, running a knuckle under her eyes as she peered at him.

"Me? Goodness no, of course we'll still have time for you to torture me all you like," He flashed her a grin, "Trust me."

"Hmm."

Ser cat appeared down the steps of the rampart and disappeared under Ander's robes as he squared Neria off, hands on her shoulders. Cringing in a tickled way from the unseen cat, he said, "Trust me?"

When they entered the receiving chamber, Anders hushed her and pulled Neria aside. Across the room, Justice turned his head, frowning at their behaviour.

With all the stealth of a birthing cow, Anders ushered Neria across the room to where the spirited man was. No one else was around.

"Where is Varel?" Neria asked as she was pushed.

"There is…. a problem outside," Anders offered, maintaining a smile as Neria narrowed her eyes.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Shh!" Anders hushed Justice, and it was then Neria saw the other side of the room.

Oghren was where she'd last seen him, passed out in front of the cask – that wasn't anything new. But fanning out around him in a variety of poses and half-stuffed elevations were more trousers than she'd ever seen.

"I scoured the keep for any extra ones I could find," Anders whispered, leaning against one of the beams beside her.

Neria cupped a hand over her mouth, muffling the unbidden laughter before it made much of a sound.

"Are these not merely garments that mortals use to clothe themselves?"

"Well, to most people. Best watch and learn," Anders said, and his eyes lit up as he moved his hands, and whispered a subtle command. Across the room, a small flare of fire lit the ankle of Oghren's trousers.

"Anders," Neria hissed, but he waved his hands and she quieted. The flame grew a little, and she could see the dwarf stir.

"It is improper to harm one of your comrades this way."

As Oghren woke up, Neria hid in the shadow of the beam and shushed Justice.

"What the… " Sniffing in, Oghren sounded alarmed as he grabbed the nearest thing he could – a silky pair of pantaloons – and beat out the fire. "Thunderhumper, how in the…" The dwarf froze as he looked around.

"Here we go," Anders whispered, hiding beside Neria.

Oghren scrambled back to the cask, and upon seeing the pantaloons in his hands, gave a girlish shriek and tussled with them as one might a small bear. Finally throwing them away, he pushed up to his feet and sank back against the wall, "By the s-stone… the schleets…they've come fer me."

Right then, Anders cried out and floundered into view, fighting a pair of pants on his own, "Oghren, run! Run and get help! I don't know if I can stop them all!"

The dwarf stumbled again, still half-drunk, and he mumbled something part way between bravado and reassurance before he made it to the door. Anders cried again as Oghren threw the doors open and daylight spilled in.

As the dwarf half-fell down the steps shouting for help, Anders laughed a whisper, "Hurry! Hurry, we have to burn them!"  
Justice looked as confused as ever, and Neria burst out laughing as she scurried to collect the pants with Anders. They tossed the last pair in the fire and escaped out the back door, as Oghren stormed in with Varel and at least three other guards.

"They were all ov… Anders? The schleets – they, they were right here, they were everywhere!" Oghren glanced about wide-eyed, marching into the room as he looked for any sign, "They've run off with the sissy mage… poor sod. We – we should do something, right?"

"Bloody drunk," Varel huffed, dismissing the guards with a wave of his hand.


	13. Kal'Hirol

"How is the pendant working?"

"Between it and the healing the other mages provide, I believe well," Justice replied, standing rigidly nearby. "Perhaps it would be more accurate to make such a judgement yourself?"

"It seems better - or at least less worse... I hope you will join me? We... we may be going underground after darkspawn."

"It is my duty to seek them out and eradicate their presence - to avenge what they did to this man."

Neria grinned thinly, continuing to lash together their supplies, "Good. Are you alright to carry this?"

"Of course, Commander."

"Have you read that book I showed you?"

"It is a curious thing - remembering how to read as Kristoff did. But... it is a fascinating treatise," Justice grew ponderous, "As a mage, lyrium must mean something to you. Do you hear it?"

"No, I don't believe I do - not the way you intimate," Neria filled another of the skeins from the barrel of water, "It makes me see the world differently. It brings clarity of mind. We honestly know so little about it."

"Yet it connects you to the Fade?"

"Yes," she quietly said, "As does our magic. They compliment each other, in many ways."

The door of the common room pushed open, and Velanna strode in, Anders on her heels.

"Creators! It's like being pestered by a child!"

"I resent that, you know," Anders said, grinning as he swung a bag of provisions onto the table.

"In your case, it is a compliment," Velanna added, "I assure you."

"Breaking my heart, you are," Anders sighed dramatically, grinning more as Neria shook her head.

"It's not the only thing I'll break," the Dalish woman turned away and smiled thinly at Neria. "So we proceed to the hills?"

"Yes, within the hour. We'll meet outside the keep."

"Speaking of that," Anders intervened, and Velanna rolled her eyes as she hoisted a backpack and left.

"We have to bring all the water, trust me," Neria said, raising a brow as Anders took her arm and guided her away. "What is it, Anders?"

"It's this whole Deep Roads things, did I ever tell you how much I simply loved being sent down through the dungeons here?"

Neria's expression revealed nothing as she said, "I seem to remember Oghren going on about it."

"I'm sure he did, lovely man," Anders waved a hand, glancing back as Justice watched them. "It's just this whole trapped underground idea, the weight of the earth above you..."

"We end up down there, you know."

"Can't you tell how eager I am to find that end?" Anders' voice shifted, "Besides, why don't you take Oghren? You've both been down there together before."

Neria stopped what she was doing and looked at her fellow mage, "Anders. Are you claustrophobic?"

The man hushed her, and she just grinned more as he said, "Why do you think I spent the better part of my life trying to get out of a tower?"

"I thought you said you had a thing for Ser Rylock."

Justice gathered up the water skeins over his shoulder and followed through the door Velanna had taken.

Anders grumbled and seemed flustered as he said, "Look, I'll go do something else - anything else! Take Oghren."

"He's visiting Felsi."

"Nathaniel then, you haven't brought him with us in -"

The door swung open and revealed the very man, and Nathaniel's eyes swung their way. Neria stiffened, and though his eyes lingered on her, they turned to Anders.

"Where in Andraste's name have all my trousers gone?" Nathaniel motioned to the bloodied, patched pair he was wearing.

Shoulders stiff, Anders clasped his hands behind his back, coughing before he airily replied, "Losing your trousers? Sounds more like something Oghren would do."

"You had something to do with this, didn't you."

"I'm flattered, Nathaniel. But really, I have no interest in getting in your pants - if you know what I mean," Anders grinned devilishly, and used the opportunity to side step him.

Neria made a half-choked sound and suppressed a laugh as she turned away to gather up her things. She cringed as a deep pain twinged up her back, and she had to put a hand on the table.

"Nathaniel! Wouldn't you just love to join our dear Warden-Commander in the Deep Roads?"

Nathaniel stiffened and glanced Neria's way before he quietly said, "I had just come to speak to her about that very thing."

"Splendid," Anders gushed, glancing apologetically at Neria as she shot him a look, "I will see about conducting a patrol when our dwarven friend returns then, and you two can run off to have fun - make a picnic of it!"

As Anders disappeared out the door, Neria prepped another satchel of provisions.

"Well? Are you going to continue to ignore me, or do you plan to go to the Knotwood Hills with just Velanna and Justice?"

"Of course you may join us," Neria quietly said, blushing as she dropped something. Nathaniel stooped to retrieve it withholding the item from her.

"Why will you not speak with me? Or is this all some sort of punishment?"

"I -" Neria furrowed her brow as she was finally allowed to take the wrapped block of cheese. Looking in her hands it was a moment, she said, "I thought you would want your space."

"You could have said something. Anything. Rather than leaving me to that damned Antivan."

"What was I supposed to say?" Neria looked away, closing her eyes as her cheeks burnt red.

"You could have just been honest - you could have said more about him. It just..." Nathaniel sighed, sitting against the edge of one of the tables, "I am sorry. It was wrong of me to assume."

"I am flattered more than I can say," Neria softly said, eyes still down. "I... I am sorry I don't talk about Alistair. It hurts to."

Nathaniel sighed and looked at one of the lamps, "Could we just... pretend nothing ever happened? I'd be much happier out fighting darkspawn at your side than worrying here."

"Of course," Neria said, rubbing her fingers over her cheek, "You'll save Anders from the Deep Roads then?"

"I'm not sure I'd go that far," Nathaniel said, watching her before he added, "I'll prepare my things."

* * *

Out of the desert and north along the Imperial Highway, the dunes seeped into savannah and clutches of dry forest. It was unbearably hot. The hamlet they encountered became more and more clogged with refugees the farther north they went.

"They are fleeing from the Tevinter war," Brant idly commented after they had broken their fast and were trying to barter passage north. "It is hard to find even merchants going north."

"What's after Vol Dorma," Alistair asked, furrowing his brow at the transient camp of commoners that stretched toward the marsh.

"The Anderfels," Leonie replied, grinning at a little girl by her side before offering her a single coin.

"Oh," the animation drained from Alistair's features.

Leonie touched his shoulder as he looked at the horizon, "You will come through it. We will be there with you."

"I just wish I knew. It's the unknown," Alistair quietly said, furrowing his brow. "I don't see what they want. What the point of this is?"

"I am sorry I do not have more answers, _mon frère_."

Alistair closed his eyes and mopped the sweat from his brow, before tugging at his armour. The leather was clinging and barely breathed. He couldn't imagine full plate in the heat.

Just then Brant started laughing, and Anne-Laure joined in, a hand concealing her mouth as they chatted with the Nevarran merchant. The trio looked at Alistair, and the merchant shook his head before Brant spoke again, eliciting more laughter. Alistair narrowed his eyes. The merchant passed by, clapping him on the shoulder as he motioned to a cart nearby. After gathering a few more provisions on their dwindling coin, they hopped in the back and were on the road.

Brant sunk down beside Alistair, doing nothing to conceal his grin.

"Why do I get the impression you keep making jokes at my expensive?"

Splitting a handful of dates, Brant raised his brow, "Because I do?"

"Hmph."

Chewing on a date as the cart swayed on the road, Brant pulled his hood up for shade as he said, "Have I warned you? I'm a bit of an ass."

"Really?" Alistair smirked, working the pit out of the date before throwing it off the back. "Hadn't noticed. Hmm. Nope. Not at all."

"Well, I'm a bit of an ass."

"Thanks for the warning," Alistair murmured.

Slumping in the back of the cart, Brant sighed. No cross breeze was reaching them. "At least I'm not Orlesian?"

Leonie and Anne-Laure peered at the man, but Brant simple smiled. Alistair grunted and sunk lower, closing his eyes in the heat and nodding off into the rhythm of the cart.

* * *

"She sleeping?" Sigrun asked, hunkered down in the back of the house. They had retired behind one of the ancient doors to rest, before continuing their covert attempt to infiltrate Kal'Hirol.

"I do not know," Justice said from his watch.

"I am meditating," Neria replied with slight exasperation, "...and can hear you..."

"But of course," Sigrun grinned weakly, moving to sit by the elf. Neria lifted her head to look at the woman beside her. Saved from the clutches of the darkspawn, a life dedicated to existing in the Deep Roads - she had seen one of her comrades die that very morning. And she was almost smiling. "Can't sleep?"

Justice glanced at them before turning back to the door. They hadn't been able to properly close the stone.

"I don't think I can ever sleep in the Deep Roads," Neria said, straightening her feet out.

"Oh sure, don't worry. It'll get easier in time."

"Somehow I doubt that," Neria whispered, exhaling softly. Fatigue weighed her limbs, but her mind would not let her rest. As she moved, pain bolted up her side - the assassin's wound had not healed. Her breath grew shallower.

"Have you been before?"

"Yes," she oddly grinned, "To the Trenches, to Caridin's Anvil and back."

"Wait, what are you talking about?"

"I've been to Orzammar too. How long have you been in the roads?"

"You're the Grey Warden, aren't you?" Sigrun shifted as Neria blushed, "You put Harrowmont on the throne."

"That was the Ancestor's doing - right?"

Sigrun smirked and gave Neria's thigh a light punch, "Hah, isn't that right. Wow. Here in the Deep Roads with the elf herself. You're not what I imagined."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Sigrun's expression lightened as she unfolded a bit of leather, breaking the compact fungus there in half. She offered some to Neria, "Nothing - you're a better fighter. I thought most of it was embellishment."

"Oh," Neria blushed a little, before nibbling on the dwarven version of hardtack. It was just as bad too.

"Our campaign has kept us some distance Orzammar - chasing the heels of the darkspawn as they flee."

"They have not all returned underground. There is still much turmoil on the surface."

"That doesn't really surprise me," Sigrun looked at the sliver of light coming through the door, a furrow wrinkling her tattoos, "Varlan kept saying there were too many of them - that they were too organized."

Neria nodded, looking at her hands in the low light, "They are. There are... other darkspawn leading them."

"What?"

"Talking darkspawn. It's what brought me to these hills - in part. Rumours of the crack into the Deep Roads, I thought perhaps I might find more clues."

Sigrun furrowed her brow, the tattoos on her face darkening the line, "I don't like the sound of that."

"So you haven't heard any of them speak?"

The dwarf shook her head and leant back, "Thank the stone, no. I... I don't know what I would have done."

"They sought the Grey Wardens out. One of them... took our blood. I haven't been able to make heads nor tails of most of it. "

"Kal'Hirol makes more sense," Sigrun said, and Neria looked at her as she continued, "Varlan and the others were fairly certain they're guarding brood mothers. We have to kill them."

Shuddering lightly, Neria said, "Without a doubt."

"Just because the rest of you are deciding to stay awake, doesn't mean I am," Velanna snapped, sitting up from where she was curled on the ground.

"Sorry," Sigrun whispered, looking sheepishly at Neria.

"Rest," Neria said, pulling to her feet, "I'll be quiet - and stay up with Justice."

* * *

With a crackle of light, Neria swung her blade through the hurlock, and its head lopped off. She turned at Sigrun's side and staggered forward, as an arrow flew over her shoulder and pinned a genlock back to the wall. Retrieving the control rod from her belt, the elven mage shouted a command, and the iron golem staggered forward down the stairs and gave them a chance to breath.

The sounds of combat still rang in the air - of blades and flesh.

"They're fighting," Nathaniel hurriedly said, notching another arrow at the ready as they stopped halfway down the stairs. The sickly pull of their presence flared in his gut.

"This is good," Velanna said, recovering her breath, "They'll kill each other and save us the trouble."

The strain of need, of want - of thirst - pulled at Neria's throat, and she scarce thought as she cracked a vial of lyrium and drank it. Her voice croaked as her mind flushed beyond the edges of perception, "But why. Why are they fighting? I've never seen darkspawn infighting."

"How do they tell each other apart?" Sigrun whispered, adjusting the grip on her blades.

Neria shook her head, eyes carrying a subtle glow to them as she said, "I don't know. Keep killing them. Kill them all."

"Yes, Commander," Justice replied, sword twirled to the ready as they launched at the clots of darkspawn.

Distracted with their own melee, the darkspawn fell with surprising ease, limbs breaking, half-frozen and ichors spattering the pulsating walls. Stabbing an alpha to the ground, Neria's eyes snapped up.

The sounds of battle and metal faded as she stepped towards the cage. It wasn't a cage, it was a bridge - no, it was a cage that held the spiked, glowing behemoth. It reminded her of the Anvil, reminded her of the delight the crystal had granted her soul - a consuming ease.

"Can you hear it?" Justice asked at her side, equally enthralled.

"Hear it?" Neria idly asked. Sigrun and Nathaniel were piling the bodies to burn behind them.

"The lyrium. It is singing - it is more beautiful than anything I have yet heard." Justice's voice dropped, "You do not look at it the way the others do - you can hear it."

Neria tore her eyes away subtleties in the blue crystal, stalking about the wide chamber as she examined bits here and there, "I do not know what you speak of."

"Then why do you observe it thusly?"

Snatching one of the torches from the wall, Neria thrust it in the hands of the corpse, flatly saying, "Burn the corpses."

"Yes, m'lady."

There was an aged bucket of liquid lyrium. It couldn't be said how long it had sat there, what may have fallen into its impurities - but Neria knelt by it none the less. She hadn't seen so much since - since Conner.

It had snaked through her limbs, burning and freezing in the same instance. It had become concise and objective - the world became so. It was only when Sigrun spoke that Neria realized she'd slipped her fingers into the thick liquid.

"Careful," Sigrun casually said, "Enough lyrium there to kill most of you three times over."

With a subtle motion, Neria slipped an empty vial from her belt, "I've handled my share of lyrium."

"Oh right - mage," Sigrun grinned and wiped a finger down her cheek, inspecting the darkspawn blood gathered, "I always heard things, but I didn't know you were immune. The cartas were always smuggling lyrium to the surface."

Neria feigned a soft laugh, and she corked the vial, losing feeling through her hand from the close contact, "Seems the dwarves could control all of the surface through it."

"You'd think so, hmm."

When Sigrun turned away, Neria suckled the remnants of the concoction from her fingers, and the lack of diluents hurt her mouth, but it brought with it a rush that made her heart palpitate. Though her lips and tongue had numbed, she felt flushed as she walked back to join her companions.

"Are you alright?" Nathaniel furrowed his brow.

Eyes lucid, Neria glanced up at the man, "Why do you ask?"

"If I didn't know better, I would swear your eyes were glowing."

A scream from the next chamber drew their attention, and after fighting through a tertiary group of darkspawn, they found a man suspended in a cage.

"Thank the Maker," he cried, pressing against the bars, "I thought I'd die here."

"Do not worry, we will free you," Neria said, Nathaniel at her side to pick the lock on the cage. "Do not run."

When the man slumped out of the cage, nearly in tears, Neria clutched his chin and pulled his face to hers.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

Satisfied when she saw his eyes, Neria pressed a water skein in his hands, which he greedily drank as she replied, "Ensuring you are not ill. There - the way will be free of darkspawn, you must make it out on your own."

"O-of course, yes, thank you - thank the Blessed Prophet for you!"

As the man scrambled down the steps, Justice glared, "We should see him to safety."

Neria closed her hand into a fist. There was a tremble in her grasp, and it took physical recognition to keep it from descending down her leg, "We haven't the time. He is one man. More will die if we do not press on."

"He will not survive on his own," the spirit pressed, and turned to go.

"Did you not wish to avenge Kristoff? To slay those who robbed him of his life, and Aura of a husband?" Neria's expression was hard, the whites of her eyes icy with luminosity. "Did you not say the darkspawn are a cancer that we must cut out?"

The expression of the corpse was difficult to read at the best of times, but Justice hesitated before he said, "Let us continue."


	14. Tesaro

Neria was forced to sheath the Spellweaver as the air burst and popped into fire. She staggered back, acutely feeling the lyrium crystals along the wall as she slipped out of the grease and coughed for air. Her companions weren't so lucky.

Velanna cried out, wheeling out of the flames as Nathaniel fell in the slick. On hands and knees, he crawled out of the fire and away from the massive golem. Sigrun and Justice held their ground against the massive creature, and the dwarf darted free from the inferno and drew the golem's attention.

Time had melted together in their descent through Kal'Hirol. The dwarven ghosts chased any chance of rest, as did the constant gnaw of darkspawn in their gut. The persistent tremor that lingered from the lyrium concentrate seemed minor to Neria by comparison.

Abject clarity suspending her mind, Neria called the air together, and the temperature plummeted as the air whorled into a blizzard. It did little to the grease fire, creating an oddly glowing vortex of fire, snow, and cloud. Sigrun skirted the storm, and her blade soon found the gut of the Lost. Its staff clattered to the ground.

As though enraged by the demise, the inferno golem spun through the snow, ice flecking off its massive limbs. It was only when a rock battered its chest that it faltered. Slumping to its knees, the fires that lit beneath the massive plates sputtered out, and the chamber shook as it collapsed into the grease slick.

Though the combat faded, the uneven sound of Velanna's pained breaths broke as she pulled the healing magic through. Blinking free from the worst of the burns, the Dalish turned as Neria dashed for Nathaniel's side. Bracing at his side, the elven mage brought forth a shimmering ward about Nathaniel's body. The light rushed up, echoed in the whites of her eyes, and soon the man gasped a deeper breath.

"Wh - where am I," Nathaniel whispered, his voice hoarse, "I ... I can't see."

Neria's armour clanked as she fell to her knees beside him, "I'm here Nate, be still."

Nathaniel rolled his head, hair and beard half-charred and skin bubbled, and tears streamed from his reddened eyes. The light from Neria's ward pulsed around them, a rejuvenating flush through their limbs as she bent over him. Velanna's magic flared behind them.

Laying her hand over Nataniel's eyes, Neria's focused and murmured the incantation that focused the creationism. The numbing light bled from her hand and the man shuddered. When she drew her palm away, he cringed and sank back.

"Th.. thank you," he whispered, tiredly draping an arm over his face.

"We'll rest," she replied, sinking back to pull a lyrium vial from her waist. She drank it in a flash, ignoring the heat of her own burns.

As Sigrun approached, she asked, "Do you hear that?"

Neria's expression sagged as she nodded, leaning back heavily upon her pack. She looked at Nathaniel again, and seeing him tremble, touched his arm, "Do you need more healing?"

"No," he roughly whispered, "It... I can just still feel my skin burning, you know? Even if the pain is mostly gone."

Justice seemed distracted, unfocusing eyes upon one of the crystals over the edge of the floor. Velanna hugged her arms to herself, a grimace etched on her features.

"It's coming from there," Sigrun quietly said.

"I have to rest," Neria quietly said, her insides raging between the flutter of the lyrium and the claws of the distant darkspawn. "Though they are near, we all must rest."

"They're close?"

Closing her eyes, Neria saw the impression of the behemoth in her mind as she said, "Yes. I can feel them."

"I don't feel anything," Velanna said, unwilling to sit.

"You'll be able to feel them farther away in time," Neria replied, running a hand up her throat as she took off her helm. "And feel what they are."

The broodmothers were waiting. And it sickened her.

* * *

On the outskirts of Vol Dorma, Brant negotiated as best he could with the Imperial patrol that impeded their progress. It was oppressively hot, even in the shadow of the mountains fathoms away, and the soldiers were suppressing any egress - the plagues that came with summer had flared into near epidemic proportions. The city gates were barred.

The night was filled with cries and sobbing in the vast camp of refugees, and the stench of death and burnt flesh made rest impossible. Mass pyres purified the dead, and come dawn, the last of the lay sisters praying for the deceased had joined the ashen flock.

"I've never seen anything like this," Alistair whispered, heavy-eyed and sleep deprived. "I mean illness, but on this scale..."

"We must circumvent the city and the camps," Leonie said, a permanent furrow on her brow as she did her best to track Anne-Laure. The mage had taken to healing those she could, her magic more readily accepted now that they were on the border of the Tevinter Imperium.

"I've never known a Grey Warden to succumb to any of the plagues," Brant assured, sitting with his face covered none the less. "We need water."

"Then we go into the mountains. _Diantre_ , we go through the fields, it is not worth the risk."

They were at the edge of the camp, resting after the merchant they had travelled north with had refused to go any further. There were so many people, without land, with scarce any belongings, and the makeshift tents stretched far, identified by the fires and the light they cast. It reminded him of the Blight.

"I wish there were anything we could do," Alistair quietly said. "There isn't, is there?"

Brant shook his head, eating a bit of waybread.

"This is a reminder of how He turned from us - from the sin we wrought!" A voice cried across camp, and it wasn't till the man yelled again that the Wardens lifted their heads,

"In the absence of light, shadows thrive - they thrive in our flesh and souls, killing our children and destroying our lives!"

"It always brings out the worst," Brant murmured, wiping the sweat from his brow as he broke bread again.

"What is he saying?"

"Nothing worthwhile," Leonie wrinkled her nose, looking down to her blade as she worked the whetstone.

"We are but men, doomed to die for the vanity of life - You."

A string of words, cobbled Orlesian and Nevarran, snapped in the relative quiet of the night, and Leonie was on her feet.

"You! Look at what your pride has wrought and despair - you brought this doom!"

Alistair was on his feet too, unable to properly see in the night - or understand what they were saying. Leonie threatened the man who shook Anne-Laure, and the mage spat a quick foray of words that made him release her.

Brant had already grabbed their packs, and he pushed some of the gear into Alistair's grasp as he said, "Let's move camp. We need to rest."

"Rest," Leonie wrinkled her nose, keeping close by Anne-Laure's side, "You think there will be any rest here?"

In the dark they stumbled through the makeshift camp, and when they finally reached the opposite side, the sky was losing some of its black edge. The stars were bright, and the only clouds seemed ghostly white and out of place. Leonie settled with her head in Anne-Laure's lap as Brant tossed down his pack.

"You still alright for watch?"

"Yeah," Alistair emptily said, looking back over the camp. The fires had dimmed, but the crying, coughing, and continual murmur of suffering permeated the dwindling night. "I'll be up."

* * *

 _There was a pinch in her arm, like the light was draining away, and Neria struggled to open her eyes. Nothing would focus._

 _"Do not move. It will be over soon."_

 _A chill snaked up her thighs, and the weigh in her limbs grew, a nausea taking hold in her stomach. She groaned, the sound weak on her lips. She knew the voice. She knew the smell. The cold reminded her of the taint, of the Deep Roads, of the cloying webs and seeping, consuming cold._

Neria's eyes opened as she lurched, and she ran a hand through her dirtied hair as she frantically glanced around the camp. They were camping in the crevice in the hills. There were no darkspawn - none she could feel - and the rest of the camp was asleep. Even Sigrun had eased to sleep, despite the threat of sky.

Putting a hand to her throat, Neria closed her eyes. She trembled, even as she tried to steady herself, and there was the raw ache deep in her mind and a cold sweat on her skin. Turning over her pack, she spilt out all the vials within, and scrambled to find one of the more potent lyrium's.

"Commander?" Justice turned as she cracked and drank the potion without a word.

As soon as it hit her lips, it brought the calm and clarity. Neria closed her eyes. That creature was gone from her thoughts. The feel of their hands, the kiss of their blighted flesh. She turned her eyes until she could see the sliver of sky through the teeth of the canyon.

"Yes?" she softly croaked, feeling around for her water, "What is it, Justice?"

"You sounded... distressed."

"And?"

The spirit hesitated, empty eyes turning away before he said, "I do not know."

Neria pulled up to her feet, scrounging for her armour as she whistled sharply. Her companions stirred as she said, "It's dawn. Let us march for the Vigil."

Sigrun stretched and was soon on her feet, lashing her pack efficiently, "Do you always sleep so much?"

The elven mage paused, eyes turning to the dwarf as she lashed her greaves. Tiredly smiling a thin line, Sigrun shrugged and hauled her skein over her shoulder.

"Thank you for coming with us."

"Being a Grey Warden seems like the right thing to do. I'll help you chase the darkspawn back underground," Sigrun strode to where the sky opened up, as Velanna and Nathaniel groggily readied themselves. "Besides, this'll be … something else."

* * *

Neria gripped the flagon tighter, before lifting it to her lips to chug the whole thing.

"See? Now that's why you are just the elf I was looking for," Oghren said, slouching deeper into the chair. "Drink like a man twice yer size."

"How did things go with Felsi?" Neria managed, exhaling as her senses dulled more. It was what she desperately needed.

They had returned and promptly conducted Sigrun's joining, despite Varel's pleadings. They had been in the Deep Roads for too long, she knew it. She knew the arling needed her, that decisions need be made. But she couldn't handle it right now.

"Women. Who needs them."

"Ferelden I think," Neria almost slurred her words, and Sigrun laughed.

"There you are," Nathaniel appeared in the doorway.

"Better fill thish up more, Oghren," Neria pushed the flagon to him, and the dwarf sniggered, before swaggering up to stumble to the cask along the wall.

"It's the little blighter," Oghren rumbled, leaning heavily on the wall as he shoved the flagon under the spigot.

Sharp eyes turning to Nathaniel, Neria let her head fall back on the chair, "And what might I do for you, ser Howe?"

"Are you drunk?"

"Me? No."

"No," Sigrun smirked, leaning on the arm of her chair towards Nathaniel, "I think plastered is the word."

"Hardly, lishen to how well I enunciate. Not even sodding drunk," Neria murmured, unwilling to move as she accepted the flagon back from Oghren.

"We'll get ya there yet, snowball."

Nathaniel watched her a moment, the furrow in his brow unrelenting before he said, "Will we be going to Amaranthine soon?"

"I don't really know, Nate. I might get stoned. You saw the peasants by the gate when we returned," Neria looked at him with tired eyes, before drinking a good deal of her ale.

"All the more reason you should be ruling the arling and not drowning yourself in ale."

"Yeah," Sigrun said, "That's Oghren's job, obviously."

"Yeah!" Oghren lifted his tankard, "That's my job, wench. Course, I don't mind helpin' the ladies drink away their sorrows. Oghren's always got a shoulder to lie on. A few other things too." He sniggered and Sigrun sighed.

"Where is the brewery?" Zevran made an unpleasant sound as he leant into the common room. " _Tesaro_ , not you too."

"Zevran," Neria said with a smile, "Where have you been?"

Clearing his throat, the Antivan leant on the back of her chair, "Seeing to a number of security measures. I am much more satisfied now. And who is this?"

"Sigrun," the dwarf raised a hand with a grin, "Legion of the Dead."

"Zevran Arainai."

Sigrun glanced at Neria with a raised brow, and the elf replied with a soft hiccup, "Assassssin. He came to Ferelden to kill me."

"Oh. Well, a pleasure?"

"Likewise," Zevran inclined his head, before resting a hand on Neria's head. "I do have some of that wine you enjoy. One of the merchants in the city had a crate - a donation to your cause, of course."

"Zev, are you pilfering nobles?"

"No, no," Zevran grinned, and Nathaniel shook his head and left. "I emboldened him to support you."

Sigrun lounged in her chair, musing before rising, "We might just get along."

"Mmm, the red one?" Neria rolled her head on the chair, her temples throbbing. Her hand shook as she reached to steady herself. "If you help me up."

"Lightweight," Oghren murmured.

Sigrun followed them, laughing as Neria did her best to maintain her composure, but nearly tripped over her robes. Snagging a bottle from his room, Zevran picked Neria off the wall and helped her down into the apartments.

"You'll drink with me?" Neria asked, lighting the fire before sinking to the chaise beside it.

"I said wine you enjoy, my dear Warden," Zevran chuckled as he brought her a glass.

Holding the goblet, Neria tried to steady the tremor. The liquor blurred the edges of the caving need, but was merely scattered leaves over the pit trap that awaited. "Not healthy of me to drink alone."

Zevran showed his own goblet as he sat down beside her with a sigh, "So, have fun in the underground?"

The smoothed edges of her tipsy haze hardened on Neria's features and she looked at the fire. She gave her head a little shake before downing a few gulps of the wine.

"Aie, temperance, Neria. I'd rather not have to mop you off the floor."

Finishing the glass, the elven mage relinquished it to Zevran's grasp, exhaling as it sloshed with the ale in her belly, "You don't have to. Ish terrible down there. I do not wish to think abous any of it."

"Ah," Zev looked to the window, "I apologize, _dolcezza_."

"They were breeding. Breeding an army to come for the city," she whispered, tracing a few fingers over her lips. The fire softened at the edges - it was becoming more difficult to see. "I dream of it. When I go down there, thas what'll happen, Zev. They'll drag me away to become a mother."

"I am not certain what you mean, Neria."

Neria turned and stood up, shaking her head as she made it across the room with only a slight stumble, "No. No you weren't there. You couldn't know." She rummaged through some of the things on her desk, before going to the window, dissatisfied.

Putting the goblets down, Zevran cautiously followed, "Perhaps you should rest. You have been gone some time."

"I couldn't even tell th' time. There was just darkness. Darkness and th' taint, and their screams, and lyrium. So much lyrium," Neria traced her fingers up her cheek as she thought, And tears.

"Have you been drinking it?"

"Not since we returned," she whispered, and when she turned in the low light, Zevran could see the faded, bluish glow in her eyes. "I just want so much of it. You can't know how beautiful it is."

"I should have come with you," Zevran growled in the back of his throat, coming by her side.

"And gotten ill? And died? Or become a Grey Warden, no," Neria shook her head, and she had to put a hand on the windowsill. The sun was just setting, and the hot summer air billowed the curtain. "You've been there for me, Zev. Been there right from the start when so many othersh haven't been."

"It is as true now as when I said it," Zevran quirked his lips, "I am your man, without reservation."

"But here I wait for him," Neria wiped the tears that caught along her upper lip, sniffing in as she whispered, "What if he never comes back? When you're here. When you take care of me."

Zevran rubbed up her back, shaking his head, "I hold a precious gem in trust."

Turning to him, Neria let her hand stray to his thigh. Breathing in deeply, her cheeks flushed more darkly as she leant up to kiss him. Zevran's hand caught her shoulder, holding her back.

"Please, _tesaro_ ," he whispered, "Do not do this. You are drunk."

Neria's breath fell down the curve of his jaw, and Zevran closed his eyes. Leaning in, she kissed his neck, damp limps tracing the skin before he pulled her back more firmly.

"As appealing as you always are, my dear Warden, I do not wish you to do anything you will regret," Zevran licked his lips, false jest in his voice, "Such as me."

Touching his waist with her other hand, Neria blinked lengthily, and the tip of her nose traced the curve of his jaw, "I wouldn't if I didn't want it, Zev." She closed her eyes, still held firmly in his grasp, "I... I always have. Your voice, the way you smell, the way you make mmme laugh..."

Neria's tired eyes opened to him, and Zevran tempered his breath as she touched his mouth and whispered, voice choked with emotion and liquor, "You wipe away my tears."

Zevran tightened his grip on her arm as she leant into his lips again, the kiss off-kilter and mushed. Eyes half-lidded, he coughed and withdrew back, whispering, "You have had too much to drink, Neria. Go to sleep and I will see you in the morning."

"Please don't leave me," she whispered, closing her hand into a fist in his shirt. She was shaking again. "Some die with bravado, with flair, with fire and screams. But I am being destroyed sho peacefully. Eroding in the shadows under oppressive currents." Licking her too-dry lips, she made a sound of disbelief, or laughter, or sorrow, "It's maddening."

"Then sleep," Zevran forced, tightening his stomach as she leant into him more. "And I will stay. You will not be alone."

"Make me feel," she whispered, and her lips found his neck again. "I am so parched... show me I am not s'm hollow creature, some tool, or hero. I am jus' an elf like you."

Neria sighed as their lips met again, the lyrium tremble melding with a shiver as his lips parted. Zevran's hand fled up her arm, cradling her neck as she pulled at his shirt. He pinned her against the windowsill, fingers devouring her skin as his skilful lips kissed into her neck.

Blushing a deep breath, Neria whimpered, "Yes... please, yes."

A deep sound in his throat, Zevran nipped at her neck, his tongue lavish on her skin. Neria disentangled her fingers, and her hand pressed down his chest, nails dragging over his thigh. He pinned her to the sill and pulled away.

"You want me," she softly whispered, flushed red as she looked at him.

"A powerful minx like you?" Zevran blinked lengthily, turning the words on his tongue before he chuckled, "What sane man would not?"

"Then why d'you push me away?" The darkness of the Deep Roads, of her sleepless nights and solitude crept into Neria's features, "Is it the maid?"

"No - no she does not even compare," Zevran took another step back, breathing more deeply as he mused, "It seems that since coming to Ferelden I have developed some sort of moral conscience. Who could have done that, _tesaro_?"

"Treasure," she whispered, fingers on the front edge of his shirt to beckon him back. The world swayed, not wholly focused as she sat on the windowsill and pressed the palm of her hand down the strain in his leather breaches. "So you are all talk? Just Antivan bravado?"

Blinking lengthily, Zevran drew a breath through his nose as he leant over her, resting his forehead against her own. His body betrayed him. Opening his eyes, he tightened his hand into a first in her robes and whispered by her ear, "Playing to my vanity, where has the sweet little mage gone?"

Pressing more firmly over his arousal, Neria replied, "If the Blight did not crush that girl, the Vigil has."

The tips of their noses touched, lips hovering close once more as Zevran sighed, the sound darkening the blush on Neria's cheeks.

"Do you still love him?"

Hand freezing over the laces of his trousers, Neria's subtly glowing, dilated eyes drifted. Her lips moved and the words would not come - but the tremors did. Her hand shook again as tears welled in her eyes, "I..."

Stiffening, Zevran pushed off the windowsill and left.

Alone in the dancing shadows of the fire, Neria slumped down, unable to keep the shaking from her hands as warm tears spilt down her cheeks. Sinking to the ground, she slumped and sobbed, curling an arm over her head. Her stomach turned and the world continued to tilt as she closed her eyes.


	15. Consequences

Neria lifted her head no more than an inch, as the door to her bedroom swung open, and Calevar, her young elven groom, entered on the heels of Varel. The seneschal closed a fist on his key, sighing as he saw her in the tangle of sheets.

"Commander, it is unsafe of you to lock your door," he said, turning as she squinted and tried to move. Varel sighed, "At least you are unharmed."

"Miss," Calevar backed from the side of the bed as Neria half stumbled out and grabbed the chamber pot. The boy's jaw dropped as she retched, prompting him to turn away. "Are – are you ill, my lady?"

"Don't call me that, Calevar," Neria whispered, the words echoing in the pot. She closed her eyes as Varel opened the blinds, resting her forehead on the metal rim as she knelt there. "Maker's breath Varel, whatever do you need me for so urgently."

"The nobles are waiting for your ruling on a number of matters," he replied.

Neria kept her eyes closed as tears welled, and she held the pot with both hands to steady the shaking. A cold sweat clung to her skin, unwilling to abate.

"Get Anders," Varel sighed, and Calevar nodded before disappearing into the hall. "I would not have expected this of you."

Neria pulled back onto the bed, her eyes reddened and darkened, "Just a big sodding disappointment."

Varel furrowed his brow, "The arling needs you. The darkspawn have grown bold in your absence. Many of the farmers along the Hafter River are suffering. They come here for your aide."

Closing her eyes, Neria felt a throb in her temples, and absently began touching her lips. They felt so warm, everything was hot and empty. Getting up, she closed the curtains, moving slowly until she was beside Varel, "It cannot wait?"

"People are dying," Varel replied, looking upon her with fatherly concern. "The darkspawn do not wait, the crops are at risk."

"Why do I care?" she whispered.

"Commander?"

"Why won't other people?" Neria's voice warbled before hardening, "Why do I have to care if people live or die?" Swaying, the elven mage began to undress, and was dragging her feet to the changing screen when the door opened.

"A little under the weath – ohhh Andraste's knickers, did I just see that?" Anders rounded and nearly ran into Calevar, laughing a little as he said, "Wait till I tell Nate."

"What are you doing here?" Neria blushed, as she accepted the water Calevar offered. Drinking it down, they began putting on her armour.

"Me? I was under the impression you were in dire need of my impressive healing capabilities," Anders replied, picking up a rock on her desk before throwing open the curtains. "What is that smell?"

"I need lyrium," she croaked, pulling from the boy as she whispered, "It is alright, dear, go and I will finish."

"Hmm," Anders replied, glancing to where Neria was half-clad in armour. He made eyes at Varel, who looked exceedingly displeased.

"I will be down forthwith, Varel. You are dismissed."

"Commander," he interjected.

"Leave us," she turned her icy eyes on him, and the seneschal clasped his arms and bowed out.

"Touchy, touchy," Anders said with a grin, a slender vial of lyrium in his grasp, "Now, all I'm wondering is why you really need this."

"Just give it to me," Neria said with equal assertion, reaching for it as the man hesitated.

Anders lifted the vial out of her reach, and thumbed his chin as he mused, "You know you smell almost as bad as Oghren. I wonder if I could get you out of your armour again – ow, that's not fair."

Neria smacked him again with her gauntleted hand, "Like you are being fair. This isn't some joke."

"I don't know, it seems pretty funny to – oww!" Anders clutched his ribs where she jabbed, skirting back out of reach as he said, "That hurt. Wounding me so."

"Just give me the sodding lyrium," she raggedly said, glowering at him.

The humour left Anders features as he frankly said, "I'm not so sure I should."

"You're going to make me brew my own? When you could just give it to me and make this all better?" Neria made an odd sound, and there were creases around her eyes, prematurely aging her, "Do you really want to do that to all my petitioners? The elven mage arlessa will not be so bloody merciful this time."

"How much have you been drinking?"

"Get out of my way," Neria made an aggravated sound, turning away as she tied her hair back with a stray bit of leather.

"Neria, stop," he caught her arm, and she huffed a sound. "Believe me, I know I couldn't stop you if you didn't want me to."

Biting her lip, Neria tensed and pulled her arm away, spinning to look up at him.

"Do you remember when we first met?"

Neria rubbed over her lips, feeling them burn as she began to sweat under her armour again, "I don't know. Maybe."

"Well I do," Anders smirked, the lyrium already concealed as he crossed his arms. "I was fourteen when they brought me to the Tower. I don't think you were more than eight, and were quite enthusiastic about making sure I followed the rules."

Dropping her hands, Neria looked sideways, blinking rapidly as she jiggled her leg. She sniffed in sharply before she said, "You were writing in the library books."

"Yes," Anders lightly laughed, "Do you know how many lines they made me write? Seemed like every time I was back in the tower, Neria was there making sure I followed the rules."

Neria's cheeks flushed, and she pulled at the collar of her armour, feeling the jerkin beneath pluck off her sweaty skin, "You broke a lot of them."

"Oh I know," Anders smirked as he more softly said, "So what are you doing trying to get me to give you lyrium outside of battle?"

Chewing at her lip now, Neria refused to meet his gaze, "I just...there was so much down there."

"Where - in the Deep Roads?"

"Pure lyrium, Anders. Like in the Fade, but here. Liquid, pure concentrate," she touched her lips again, and feeling her arm tremble, tears welled in her eyes. "I want so much of it. You know how it makes you feel."

"I've never been too fond of it," Anders looked back to her, and frowning he said, "Please don't cry, I don't know what to do for that. Unless we go burn all of Nate's pants again? I'm sure he'd be willing to make the sacrifice."

Neria laughed a little, putting the back of her hand over her mouth as she looked down, "I'm sorry. No, we have a shortage of pants now as is."

"We do?"

"Not us mages, no worry, right?" she softly said, swallowing the palpitations as she wiped the sweat from the bridge of her nose and smeared her tears.

"None at all," Anders grinned, "I'll have to add that to my list. No worrying about pants."

Neria suddenly hugged the man, her armour clanking as her hands met behind him.

"Oof - couldn't you have done that before you put the armour on?"

"I'm sorry for getting you in trouble so much," she whispered, wiping the tears from her cheek on the front of his robes.

Arms hovering around his commander, Anders slowly embraced Neria, lightly saying, "I don't know, isn't that what little sisters are for?"

Neria laughed a half cry, squeezing him more tightly before pulling back and wiping her eyes again, "You bet, brother. Thank you."

"Well, I'm not entirely altruistic," he said, wrinkling his nose again, "Would you consider at least chewing some mint or something before heading out amongst the rest of us?"

Though there was still a light tremble in her hand, Neria's expression lightened, and she nodded before shooing Anders away. Alone in her room once more, the emptiness reasserted itself, and she found her way to the chamber pot again.

Neria rested her cheek against the wall as she caught her breath, and flickered memories of the night before began to surface, smearing through the reprieve and chilling her skin.

* * *

"Is that what I think it is?"

Oghren hiccupped and sidled up next to Sigrun, "I dunno," he sniggered, "What do you think it is?"

"Ugh, I think the cask is calling for you, Oghren," Sigrun said as she took a step away.

"What?" Oghren peered at the barrel, before swaying closer to it, "What's that?"

Covering her face, Sigrun shook her head before approaching the egg. Tilting her head, she knocked lightly on the surface.

"It is a dragon's egg."

Sigrun glanced to Zevran, a pensive grin there as she said, "She sure collects a lot of odd things. A lot of odd people too."

Zevran arched a brow, "And now you have become part of the motley crew."

"Suppose so," Sigrun grinned, "And what about you? You aren't a Grey Warden, I can tell."

"Mm? Already?"

Sigrun nodded, regarding him before saying, "You don't sound like the rest of the people here. And Neria said you tried to kill her?"

"I did," Zevran said, his expression only faltering a moment, "I am Antivan - and I used to be a Crow, they are a society of assassins. I ended up fighting at Neria's side during the Blight - after she spared my life."

"Oh - Oh, I see." Sigrun paused and glanced across the spacious room. Casually raising a brow, she looked at Zevran, "Antivan Crow - check. Legion of the Dead - Check." She pointed at the others, "Dalish keeper - check. Undead spirit - check. She's got the best collection of all, huh?"

Zevran's expression warmed as he chuckled, "Undoubtedly the most awesome."

One of the back doors opened and Neria strode through in the company of Varel and a young page. They were having a heated discussion, but the elf faltered when she saw Zevran. The obsidian armour on her frame glowed red in the creases, acutely contrasting with the braids that kept her white hair back. She raised a hand to Varel and approached, expression harrowed.

"Uh, I'll make scarce," Sigrun sidestepped the Commander and marched off.

"Zevran," Neria lightly said, her cheeks immediately flushing red, "I-I hope we may speak."

"Commander, you have a full agenda - that I have already put off because of your... illness," Varel said, eyes darting from her to Zevran.

"We will speak, Warden-Commander," Zevran replied, inclining his head, "I am on the list."

Eyes clouded, Neria nodded a little, watching him still as she turned and followed Varel's steps.

* * *

The stars were emerging when Neria's last task of the day led her to the courtyard, where Zevran patiently waited for her. She had been unable to keep much food down, and her eyes were heavy. A furrow seemed a permanent fixture on her brow.

"I wanted to speak with you first," she tentatively said, as she moved into the garden. She was in her Tevinter robes, and the braids were loosed, leaving her short hair a bit wavy.

"I am not above waiting my turn," Zevran said, hands clasped behind him as he turned to her, "So long as those before me have concluded their business."

Running a hand over her brow, Neria's cheeks flushed as she said, "I - I am so sorry, Zev. I can only half remember the last few days. Even today, it just..."

"Si, mia cara," he clipped, keeping his hands clasped as they turned.

Neria waved her hands and walked beside him, at a loss, "Things have gotten worse, I - you... you made this appointment though. You made an appointment to see me." Her expression distorted, "Why? You can just snag me."

Zevran stiffened, and he would not meet her eyes as he said, "I am returning to Denerim."

Stopping, Neria's expression sagged and she said, "You can't go now."

"I thought to keep your brother company at the compound. There are some difficulties in the city," Zevran tactfully said, reaching through the heather blossoms.

"In the city?" she said in disbelief, her jaw dropping slightly, "But Zevran, I -"

"What?" he asked, looking at her as he said, "Have you not said I am a free man?"

"Of course you are..." she quieted as her throat thickened.

Edges hard, Zevran said, "I wished to inform you of my decision. Not to ask permission."

Neria gave her head a light shake, whispering, "You never need ask permission. You are free."

"Am I," he softly asked, closing his eyes. Battling some inner demon only briefly, Zevran's face cleared, and he didn't meet her gaze as he spoke, "I will be on the Pilgrim's Path come morning."

Hesitating only a moment more, Zevran took the steps out of the courtyard, Neria's eyes upon him.

He was out of earshot when she absently, "I gather the army. We prepare to face the horde once more."

Alone in the garden, there came no reply.

* * *

"Another patrol, that was odd," Brant said, as they continued along the road through the mountains. "Almost looked like Grey Warden heraldry. What do you think?"

"You're asking me," Alistair replied with a smirk.

"It is part of the political game of the Anderfels," Leonie said with a slight laugh, "They control their guards and private armies, in addition to the impressive number of Grey Wardens. They control the town too, making it necessary, _n'est pas_? This is where our history, our oldest secrets lie."

The battlements of the walled township were visible in the distance, perched on the edge of the mountainside. Above it, shadowed by the waning afternoon, the ancient spires of Weisshaupt fortress proper reached for the sky, as precarious and jagged as the surrounding peaks. They walked on quietly, passing the odd house or shepherd's watch box. There were horned goats grazing where the slopes of the peaks allowed.

"I don't feel right about this," Alistair murmured, face drawn as his pace faltered, "Why did I come here again?"

Anne-Laure touched his arm, and as he looked down at her in mild surprise, she said, "We will be here."

Alistair granted her a half-grin as he said, "Is that supposed to be reassuring? Led in by the Orlesians?"

Anne-Laure smacked his arm, and he feigned the injury as she turned to link arms with Leonie. The chevalier kissed the mage's temple and Alistair looked away, the deep dread in his stomach knotting again. The road curved around a cliff, and when they emerged, they encroached on the gatehouse.

"You alright?" Brant asked under his breath.

"Yeah," Alistair tried to feign, an odd laugh followed, "Course, right? The last time I had to stand in front of a group of people, there was some cute elf distracting them. I'll probably trip, or swear, or something else even more embarrassing."

Brant chuckled, his eyes sparkling as he said, "At least it'll be amusing."

"I'm so glad you're pleased," Alistair smirked at him.

"As you should be," Brant nodded, and Alistair shook his head.

It was a moment before Alistair said, "Can you feel that?"

Leonie's smile softened, "The compound in Cumberland was small... it is our kin you feel."

Hand resting high on his abdomen, Alistair murmured, "I'm not sure I like it."

At the gate, one of the guards approached, speaking in a grating tongue and stopping their movement. Exchanging glances, Alistair reached for the token on his belt, "Since I doubt you know what I'm saying..."

With the flash of the embossed griffon, the gatekeeper signalled, and the low rumble of weights and gears preceded the crack of the massive doors. The afternoon bustle of the village within met them as they were allowed egress, and a young man in Grey Warden heraldry stopped them in the road.

"I'm sorry, do you understand me?" Alistair asked, glancing through the open market to where a young girl chased a clutch of chickens.

The herald flashed a taciturn smile and said, "I do, ser. It is not often we get those from Ferelden, but some of us know the tongue."

"Thank the Maker," Alistair grinned and the parchment crackled as he pulled the folded letter out, "I've been er, summoned."

Seeing the wax seal upon the letter, the herald grew rigid and beckoned to them, "Then we go to the fortress proper. I'm afraid the First Warden is deep in the mountains currently."

As they walked, Leonie murmured, " _Qu'elle surprise_."

"When is he expected to return?" Alistair asked, patting a young boy on the head as he barrelled into his legs. They continued on.

"I apologize, I do not know."

Soon up the wide steps of the fortress, the minute tugs of individual Wardens gave wash into the masses, pulling this way and that. The herald smiled at a few, exchanging words in his own language. Led through the wide chambers, the herald clasped a hand to his heart and bowed before directing them into a room.

In the diminutive receiving chamber, Alistair and his company awkwardly waited, until one of the doors at the opposite end opened and an older woman entreated.

"I apologize, have you been waiting?" The woman swept her hair back, the thick strands peppered grey. "There is an exodus come morning, so my hands have been quite full.

"No, no we haven't waited," Alistair replied, and when he bowed, the Orlesians and Brant followed suite, "Thank you for seeing us, though I am not certain what an exodus is."

"I suppose you wouldn't," she tactfully replied, extending a hand as they approached. When Alistair shook it, she flatly smiled and said, "Your summons?"

"Oh," Alistair blushed slightly and tugged out the parchment, "Of course. I am Alistair, one of the... well..."

"The Blight Warden from Ferelden," she finished, arching her brow. Pursing wide lips, she nodded and said, "And I am Siobhan, Commander of the Grey in the Anderfels. Quite the timing you have."

"Pardon?" Alistair glanced at Leonie.

"I have guided him here as instructed, madame. We could not make it any sooner. It is a long journey," Leonie indicated, her posture rigid as she furrowed her brow.

"Yes, of course," Siobhan replied without sympathy. "Someone will show you to quarters, and I will ensure you make it to the last night."

"I'm sorry," Alistair interjected, agitation creeping into his voice, "We have been travelling for the better part of three months. I'd rather appreciate knowing what is going on."

Siobhan levelled her gaze at his as she retrieved something from her desk, "Tomorrow a contingent of our brethren leave for their calling - at dawn shall be the exodus. It is our custom to ensure they have a night full of life before they go to their deaths. I had assumed you would all wish to attend."

Alistair's cheeks flushed as he drew a quiet breath and said, "Of course, ser. It would be our honour to attend."

"Good," Siobhan said, expression hard as she opened the door and summoned a page, "Ewald will show you. And we will speak again soon. You have relatively free reign of the fortress - you will be impeded if you go where it is unacceptable."

"Merci," Leonie quickly said, exchanging glances with Alistair as they crossed their arms and bowed, Siobhan scarce glancing as she pocketed the letter and swept out the door.


	16. Bittersweet

Stepping to focus her concentration, the tempest of ice and fire whirling at Neria's feet shifted, flaring almost violet as lightening crackled up from the ground. There was sweat on her brow as she swung the sword, parrying Sigrun's blow with her shield before their blades slid against each other to the hilt. With another set of glancing blows they parted, and Neria stalked to the opposite side of the training pen in her obsidian armour.

Sigrun shook her head with an odd grin, "You're not that bad. Just think if you weren't concentrating, all those lights would be ripping me apart."

"Perhaps," Neria flatly said, accepting the water from Calevar. The boy cringed back, and she murmured something in reassurance before turning back to Sigrun. "Again."

"We've been going all morning, but alright," the legionnaire replied, reading her blades again.

Sinking her helm back on, Neria tightened her hand on the Spellweaver, ignoring the strain her limbs and the nausea in her gut. No lyrium. Her mind could wait. Let her rip it apart.

The doors into the keep burst open and Nathaniel pushed out, "Neria! There you are!"

Taking a thwack from Sigrun, Neria turned, expression hidden under her helm, "Nathaniel? What is it?"

"Runners have come in from the field. Amaranthine is under siege."

"Sigrun, come with me," Neria said, stabbing her sword in its sheath as she took the steps up to Nathaniel, "Gather the rest of the Wardens."

"Aye, Commander," he replied, before disappearing back through the doors.

Marching with haste to the receiving chamber, the air burst with hurried voices as Neria entered, Varel and Captain Garavel by a table that had been brought in, and there were peasants and nobles who had spilt in through the door. It was chaos.

"Captain," Neria said, as she pulled off her helm, "Calm these people down and gather a company of your best men."

"Commander?" Varel asked, waving a hand at the map, "I assume the Nathaniel found you?"

"He did," she replied, wiping the sweat under her chin, "We have no time to waste. I will take a contingent of the best men I have and leave for Amaranthine within the hour." Seeing Garavel still hesitating, she frowned and said, "Captain, that was an order."

"That may not be the wisest choice, m'lady," Varel interjected, the lines of worry aging his features, "We don't know how they did it, but the runners say the walls are swarmed with darkspawn. Amaranthine may already be lost."

"Nevermind that, the army is unprepared," Garavel interjected, "There is no way it could march to the city in time to save it."

"I readied an army tenfold in size overnight to stop the Blight," Neria snapped, spinning the map on the table, "I can bloody well take a company of men to Amaranthine on a forced march."

Captain Garavel tensed, his hands clasped behind his back as he said, "Y-yes, of course, Commander."

"Now go down to the camp and have a company of your best men ready to march within the hour," she looked away as he saluted, her trembling hands steadied against the table.

"Is this wise, Commander?" Varel asked. Across the room, the door opened and the rest of the Wardens spilt in, prepped for battle.

"I cannot leave all those people to the darkspawn, seneschal," she replied, her mouth dry, "Could you?"

Varel evaded the question, and continued, "We do no know the movements of the horde."

Neria stared at the map with heavy eyes, and calculating distances with a compass. Snagging a quill, she wrote a letter, sealing it with wax and the press of her seal, "I will leave half the Wardens here. Perhaps I am paranoid. And you will have the rest of the army."

"Many are untrained, Commander," Varel added.

"You certainly know how to reassure me, Varel." Neria glanced at him with cold eyes, thrusting the letter in his hand, "Send an emissary, our fastest, to Denerim. This must go to the queen."

"Yes, Commander," Varel replied, stiffly bowing.

Neria drew a laboured breath before turning to the Wardens that waited, "Scouts indicate a large force of darkspawn is ransacking Amaranthine. It seems separate from the first reports of their numbers amassing in the hills. I am only taking a few of you so we do not draw more attention from the horde."

"Hope you'll be considering me, Commander," Sigrun said with a somber grin, "Killing darkspawn is what I'm here to do."

"It is what we are all here to do," Nathaniel added, crossing his arms.

"Then both you, join me," Neria said, looking to Nathaniel, "Perhaps you may find some of the honour your father lost."

"I… yes. Thank you."

Swiping her helm off the table, Neria nodded and said, "Anders, be ready within the hour as well. The rest of you, I am trusting to guard the Vigil in my absence."

* * *

The herald who had seen them in, Ewald, sat with them at the side of the chamber, laughing with ease and translating what he could as there were embarrassing speeches regarding the seven men leaving at dawn. They were strapping warriors, muscles toned and bodies scarred from a lifetime of combat.

"When Kasirat - it is a town- was filled with the uh… the undead," Ewald leant close to them, speaking under his breath as he listened to the man currently toasting, "It was Meino that was at my side."

A round of tankards hitting the table cut off the words before the man continued.

"… pulled me from the river, slicing my straps to free me of my armour. I would have died that day without you, brother."

Alistair's eyes strayed to where an aged Warden grinned. The men in the midst of their Calling were surrounded by women – whores from the town by the look of it. They plied delicate, perfumed scarves around the grizzled warriors, their whispers unheard amidst the wide hall. Alistair flushed and looked back to his ale.

"And it was Meino who I could count on to always steal the ladies, as he continues to do to this day," The speaker turned as Ewald continued to translate, and another round of banging stayed let the young man catch up, "My brothers, our lives and those of many have been richer because of you."

The speaker raised his glass and the wide room of gathered Wardens fell silent, "To your victory and sacrifice. Maker preserve you."

An echoed reply murmured through the crowd, and Alistair glanced at Ewald, and at the motion, he took a deep drink of ale. The hall filled with chatter again, and progressively a space was cleared in the midst, and the lady companions left their men to join the bards there. As a young man plucked a pandura, Brant set down another round of the rich ale.

"Now this is more like it," he murmured, ribbing Alistair with his elbow and eliciting a blush. "I'll never get tired of that."

Alistair cleared his throat, rubbing up the bridge of his nose as he said, "Seems so disrespectful."

"What, they're going off to die and they can't have a bit of fun?" Brant said, his grin fading as he looked at separated Wardens. The painted women tempted them to seats at the edge of their space, and soon enough the bards struck a tune, and they swayed into synchronous motion.

"Who knows, it might be nice," Leonie murmured from where she slouched, grinning as she lifted her ale. Anne-Laure gave her a push, "Of course, I would much prefer it were you, _ma petite pois_."

The mage rolled her eyes, even as a light colour took her cheeks. Leonie leant closer to whisper something in her ear, and Anne-Laure's cheeks darkened as she laughed, covering her mouth to hush the sound.

"Feel a bit out of place with them," Brant idly said, before drinking the rest of his flagon. "More?"

Alistair exhaled, heavy in his chair as he looked in the flagon, "I don't know, I'm feeling rather delicious."

"Looking delicious too, mm?" It was one of the women, and she leant over the table, sliding another drink to each of them, exposing her cleavage in the process, "Something else hearing a Ferelden, I could just eat you up."

Alistair choked on his drink, and had to wipe a hand through his short beard as she tugged him closer to her. His voice cracked, "No eating, or anything, ehm, really - I - I'm fine."

His companions broke out laughing, and the harlot joined in too, letting the shoulder of her loose-necked gown slip down.

"That you are, but an accent like that, you've been travelling a while," she glanced at Brant and arched a brow, "Certain I couldn't give you a cosy, warm place to rest."

"Maker's breath," Alistair averted his eyes, coughing again as he tried to clear his throat.

"I am flattered, but no doubt the good men there would cherish you more," Brant said with a wide smile, motioning to the Wardens nearby.

"As you wish, my lords," the woman said with a wink, tracing a finger down Alistair's cheek before she turned back to the honourees.

"You could have fun," Anne-Laure said under her breath, grinning innocently, "Very good looking, ah, they enjoy."

"I am having fun," Alistair coughed amidst his words, trying to regain his posture.

* * *

The reverend mother raised her hands above the men, and the crowd of Grey Wardens bowed their heads in turn.

"Guide us through the blackest nights and steel our hearts against the temptations of the wicked. Take me to rest in the warmest places.

A murmur rose through the crowed, "O Maker, hear our cry."

"For I walk only where You would bid me, stand only in places You have blessed, Sing only the words You place in my throat."

The congregation sank to a knee, "O Creator, see us kneel."

Through the crowd, the woman's gaze drifted, shifting from her mage companions. Amidst the hundreds of Wardens at Weisshaupt, there were a bit more than a dozen mages. They were separate from the rest - they often were - a sect within the whole. Her eyes frozen when she saw him.

"Take from me a life of sorrow, lift me from a world of pain, and judge me worthy of Your endless pride."

"Maker, know our hearts."

"See something you like?" The short elven male grinned at the woman, speaking under his breath as the reverend mother continued her recitation and blessing.

Fiona's eyes stayed on the blond hair across the courtyard as she whispered, "What?"

"You're staring at the visiting Wardens. Can't deny, they don't look too bad."

The older woman snorted and looked back down, clasping her hands together as the prayer continued. Speaking under her breath, Fiona said, "Thinking of making Migel jealous, Deln?"

Her counterpart cocked a brow, moving the dark tattooing on his face as he mimicked the prayer to avoid suspicion, "Oh please. I'm leading him by the seat of his pants. I don't need blood magic for that."

Fiona didn't meet the eyes of one of the archers beside her as he glared. The congregation rose to their feet again, clasped hands freed as the reverend mother continued. She edged closer to Deln and whispered, "The blond looks very familiar."

"So young," Deln replied equally quiet, grinning as he noticed her side-shot glare, "You're old enough to be his mother, you minx."

The last benediction rang over the assembled crowd, and Fiona's hands dropped as she looked at Alistair again, an odd mixture of emotion in her stomach. Burying it, she gave Deln a reproachful glance, eliciting a wider grin from the man as the crowd parted.

"Had me worried there a second," Deln said under his breath as the men leaving for their Calling passed through the group.

"I should be going with them," Fiona quietly said, crossing her arms.

Deln's expression darkened as he broke rank and looked to her, "You started having the dreams?"

Fiona shook her head, fatigue in the creases around her eyes. In her periphery, the Wardens from Ferelden moved to bid adieu to those heading to the Deep Roads. "No. Don't worry yourself."

* * *

It was dawn when the parapets of Amaranthine came into view, illuminated in a sickly way that reminded Neria of the Blight. There were trails of smoke coming from the surrounding lands and within the walls - too many.

"Up ahead," she said, and they picked up their pace. There had been smattering bands of darkspawn along the road, but this was bigger.

Cresting the hill, the fires came into view, adding eerie shadow to the already frightening visages of the monsters. At Neria's cry, they engaged, and the childer turned from their untrained quarry, clawed limbs throwing villager and soldier out of the way as they felt the Wardens approach.

Neria grunted as she impaled a genlock from behind, and its cold blood spilling over her hands, before she planted a foot and pulled her blade free. At her feet a pulse of colour whirled to life, and the darkspawn that hemmed her in burst into flames, bellowing in reply. As if in answer, she raised her hands, frigid light radiating down her body to spout a nimbus and coat their limbs in ice.

Sigrun's blades flashed in the morning light, cutting mercilessly through the beasts, and arrows from Nathaniel's bow successively pierced them. Captain Garavel and the clutch of soldiers soon surrounded the raging darkspawn, his shouts bolstering the men.

Clutching her side as her companions dispatched the last darkspawn with ice-tipped blades, Neria took off up the road, catching sight of Constable Aidan. The old wound in her back flared and she had to cough to breathe deep as she nodded to him.

"Commander - thank the Maker, you've come!" The Constable saluted, his eyes shadowed. Dried blood streaked his armour. His voice choked with emotion as he said, "Though I fear you are already too late. The city is overrun."

"How did they get through the gates?" Neria furrowed her brow, glancing to where Anders walked amidst the wounded.

"They came from within the city, m'lady, from the very ground! By the time we realized what was happening, it was too late. I..." Aidan faltered, shoulders dropping as he said, "So much of the city died that first night from the sickness they brought with them. I've failed her."  
"Keep your head," Neria harshly said, and the constable righted his posture, "This city isn't lost yet."

Captain Garavel came to her side, shaking his head as he looked towards the city, "The guards... they say she is lost, Commander."

"How long has it been?"

Constable Aidan shook his head at a loss, refusing to look at the battered, open gates as he said, "I don't know. Two, maybe three days? My men and I have had no rest, just trying to stay alive. The pestilence... the things it did to people. Sweet Andraste, they weren't men anymore, my lady."

"It is the taint of their blood," Neria said under her breath, breathing deep and briefly closing her eyes. With a quick word, she summoned a healing effulgence through her body, and the ache through her ribs ebbed away.

"Men, ready your bows!" The Constable drew his sword, and they turned towards a limping, unarmed darkspawn.

"This one would speak," the darkspawn rasped, cowing his head submissively.

Neria stiffened and stopped her men, boldly stepping forward, "Speak quickly before you are slain."

"Please, no killing - just talk. I comes from the Architect -"

"The Architect," Neria said heatedly, dipping her chin, "He is... the one from the mine?"

The darkspawn nodded, chancing to look up at her as he came closer, "He sends warning - the Mother marches on Vigil's Keep! You must go defend it, and slay the Mother."

Neria shook her head and said, "Why is he doing this? He imprisoned us - why is he sending this message?"

"The Architect wishes to gain the Grey Warden's trust. The Mother must be slain."

"If we leave now, we might still make it to save the Vigil," Captain Garavel said at Neria's side.

"And abandon the city to the darkspawn," she looked at him in disbelief.

"Soon they will follow to Vigil's Keep," the darkspawn interjected, raising a hand, "They will follow to destroy all they find."

Neria put her hands on her hips, shaking her head.

"We cannot leave to defend the Vigil with this army hot on our heels, Commander," Garavel said, and as Neria looked to him, he continued, "The Constable says the city is lost - we must burn it to destroy all the darkspawn to ensure they get no further."

"I will not merely abandon the people of Amaranthine!"

"We have already lost the city - we cannot lose the Vigil as well."

Neria waved a hand towards the city, her cheeks flushing as she said, "There could be people alive in there, Captain. The keep is well defended by stone and soldier alike, the city has no one if we leave."

"Neria, we can't save Amaranthine," Nathaniel turned her shoulder, "We can still save our home."

"What?" Anders did a double take, "We can't just burn the city, we can't do that to these people! Your sister is in there - how can you just go, oh hey, let's burn it down!"

"I know a lost battle when I see one," he replied, the lines on his face sharp.

"I guess that's why Amaranthine was one of the first Orlesian footholds during the occupation," Anders replied.

"You mind your tongue, mage, before someone cuts it out," Nathaniel hissed.

"I stand with the Commander," Sigrun nodded, "That's what Grey Wardens do - we protect people!"

"It may be our only chance to stop them - Grey Wardens also make sacrifices," Nathaniel coldly said.

"Quiet! This is not up for debate, what kind of soldiers are you!" Neria snapped, "We march into the city. If there is anyone alive, we will save them from the dire fate of the darkspawn pestilence."

"No, no!" The darkspawn waved his hands, "You cannot let the Mother win! You must save the Vigil."

Expression hidden beneath her helm, Neria looked at the darkspawn, "You came in peace from the Architect, where do you go now?"

"My message is delivered, Warden-Commander," he bowed his head.

"Then you will come fight with us."

The darkspawn hesitated before cowing down, "I will do as the Grey Warden bids."

"A wise sentiment," Neria said, looking from Nathaniel to Garavel, "Gather your men, we will head into the city."

"Aye, Warden-Commander," Captain Garavel crossed his arms and bowed, before marching away to the soldiers nearby.


	17. Amaranthine

The nimbus of magic ripped through the guards, and their screams bit to Neria's core as she took down the stairs. The darkspawn fled, trying to take any in their path, and the childer were frantic to feed on the fallen corpses. Archers on high from the Chantry sent arrows raining down, the carapace cracked, bodies skewered as dark blood spewed.

When the last bodies had fallen, Neria tried to catch her breath, looking across the street in the dying light of day. She could hear the pained weeping and shuddered sounds of death, and bodies of the citizenry were half-eaten and torn, decaying with ease in the summer heat. When Anders waved to her, she ran back and knelt by Sigrun's side, holding the dwarf down as she gurgled on blood. Pulling out the arrow that pierced the chink in her armour, the legionnaire screamed.

"Stay calm," Neria assured, putting her hand on the woman's brow. A choked laugh was the only possible reply. Neria stood to draw healing energies through her friend.

Sigrun gasped in a breath, shuddering on the ground as her lung knit whole. "Sweet Ancestors of the stone," she rasped, clutching her chest as she lay there.

"Take care of her," Neria said to Anders, before marching to where Garavel awaited. "Report."

"We have taken heavy casualties, Commander," he replied, his eyes tired and his cheeks drawn. "There are a dozen of my men left."

"But the streets are clear?"

Drawing a long breath, he replied, "So far as we can tell. The constable has swept through with his best, and can find no further sign as of yet."

Neria shook her head, "Gather everyone to the Chantry."

"We have already begun, m'lady."

"Get what stores you can, we do not know how long they will be."

Wiping his blade on his cuirass, Nathaniel came to her side as the Captain bowed and slipped away, "They're still here."

"I know," she said with a sigh, unable to draw a deep breath. Her muscles were screaming and her mind was drawn to its limit. A muffled sound turned her head, "Do you hear that?"

Nathaniel shook his head, a permanent furrow in his brow, "You mean apart from all the death and suffering?"

Not warranting him with a glance, Neria quietly said, "Take the others and please start piling the darkspawn. Get what you can done before the sun goes down."

"Are you alright?" Nathaniel hesitated.

Drawing a breath carefully, Neria looked up to him, the top of her head only coming to his nose, "Yes. Now go."

Turning down the alleyway, Neria traced her hand along the wall, coughing as she paused to listen. The pitch of sound came again, breaking into a cry that made her shiver. Blood trailed the ground, dried to almost black, and her armour clanked as she hurried to the woman's side.

Pulling off her gauntlet, she touched the neck of the woman, and she paled. The young woman was brutally eviscerated. Then the snuffled sound rose into a wail, and Neria shivered as she threw back the woman's cloak to reveal the baby carrier on her back.

"Oh Maker," she shuddered, seeming all thumbs as the child cried. She fumbled to draw the babe out, "Shh it's okay."

Unsheathing her dagger, she cut up the cloak, shaking away the bloodied swaddling. Dropping her other gauntlet, she laid the baby down and pulled off her helm, "See? Nothing to be scared of."

Unfazed, the baby cried harder, tears streaking her cheeks. Neria gave her hands a little wave, frowning at the acute sound. With a quick whisper, a healing rejuvenation washed through the small frame, and the child's eyes flew open, her cries ceasing.

Clumsily wrapping the torn cloak around the baby, Neria picked up the baby, fingers under her head, "See? You'll be alright."

Snagging her armour with her free hand, she gingerly cradled the babe in her arm, mindful of her cold armour as the evening shadows fell. Deep within she could feel the sickly twist of lingering darkspawn, but along the street she could see the piles of bodies burning, as she made her way to the Chantry. She met Nathaniel on the stairs.

"You had a younger sister," Neria said, extending her arm, and he took the baby with sudden understanding.

"I er, I did," he replied, looking at her with a bit of concern.

"We'll bring her to the Chantry... like all the other lost souls," she softly sighed, and they swept up past the barricade and through the guards. "We defend this building and everyone within at all costs."

"Yes, Commander!"

Once inside the Chantry, the rush of confined bodies and filth hit them, the wide space filled with the quiet murmur of weeping and loss. The pews were lined, and Neria exhaled as she looked across them.

"Thank the Maker," a sister turned from the templar she spoke with and strode to Neria, taking both her hands, "I do not know what we would have done without you."

Neria motioned to Nathaniel, who handed her the baby, "Please ensure the villagers stay here for the night."

"Of course, arlessa," the lay sister replied, expression softening as she held the babe close, properly swaddling it into silence.

"Nathaniel?" A voice echoed from down the church, followed by the rapid tap of feet on stone.

Nathaniel's expression melted away as he pushed past to embrace her, "Delilah. You're alive."

Breaking into soft sobs, Delilah laid her head on her brother's shoulder, "He's dead, Nathaniel. He's dead."

Neria turned with stiff steps to where Sigrun lay in the corner, and she knelt down, "How is it feeling?"

"Not bad, considering I'm dead."

Almost half-laughing, Neria slumped down against the wall alongside her, disappearing from view as she looked at the ceiling, "Not if I can help it."

"I bet this all would be easier if you came to terms with it, Commander," Sigrun said under her breath. "Life's easier if you accept that you're dead already."

Fatigue weighing her limbs, Neria rolled her head to look at the dwarf, "And what's the point if I'm dead?"

"Them," Sigrun motioned to the masses, a distance in her eyes, "Seems to me Grey Wardens live to die so no one else has to. Sort of like the Legion."

Anders snuck in through the cracked door, and glancing at Nathaniel, slumped down beside Neria, "There's the hypocrite himself, hugging his entirely whole-and-not-burning sister. Please tell me you've got a lyrium?"

Slipping the blue vial from her belt, Neria pressed it into his hand, expression sagged.

"Ahh my saviour, " he purred, taking a quick sip, "You know I wonder if that's blasphemy, all considering."

The doors burst open with a force that shook the building, and it throttled Neria from the half-conscious state she'd slipped into. They were on their feet as the guard cried out, and they dashed out, bolting the Chantry doors behind them. Sagging briefly against the wood, Neria drew her sword, bracing as a hurlock fell upon her. The barricade on the stairs was battered and covered in bodies.

With a flick of her wrist, she set the bloodied wood on the steps ablaze, and it flared to life and illuminated the fighting. Clouds jaded the night sky, and Neria cursed as a bolt glanced off her armour.

"The inn, Commander!" Garavel called when they had a moment to catch their breath. Down below the Chantry steps, the childer in the streets were ignorant of their fighting as they feasted on the fallen flesh.

Impaling a genlock on her sword, Neria turned and pushed the darkspawn off the precarious edge of the stairs. Panting, she looked to where the doors on the inn splintered further.

"They didn't collapse it," she whispered, staring as an emissary stalked out of the shattered doorway in the wake of his kin. She could feel them pulling at her, and it added to the fiery anger hardened in her belly.

"What?" Sigrun looked up at her.

"Guard the Chantry with your lives," Neria commanded, motioning for her Wardens to come as she muttered, "And Maker protect us."

 

* * *

 

Zevran sighed as he sat on the edge of the raised bed. The garden around him was in full bloom and partially overrun by weeds – but it seemed the things she had planted grew well none the less. He rolled the tomato in his grasp before smelling the soft, reddened skin.

It smelled like home. Well, parts of it at least. The thought tightened in his stomach as much as the ones of her did.

Snagging the basket, Zevran plucked the last few herbs and wrinkled his nose, seeing the dirt on his hands. He could be covered in blood and it would be less displeasing. He walked through the quiet compound and settled into the kitchen, picking through a few of the things and eating one of the tomatoes. Slipping one of the knives free, he shook his head and turned to retrieve his whetstone – truly, to keep one in such disrepair was a disgrace.

"Zevran!"

The breathless sound of stress in Alim's voice made Zevran stop in his tracks. Tossing the knife down on the counter, he strode through the common room to meet the young man half way – quite abruptly too, as the elf ran smack into him.

"What is it, mm? You remind me of your sister, so quick to fret and frown, it mars the beauty of your features," Zevran casually said as Alim pulled back, and the Antivan grinned.

Alim shook his head, grabbing Zevran's arms, still panting from an obvious run, "The – the army is marching, it – they -."

"Alo, do not forget to breath," Zevran grinned and leaned close to the man.

Flushing as he stepped back, Alim squeezed Zevran's biceps as he said, "It's the Vigil. They say the Keep has been sacked."

The humour drained from Zevran's features as he pulled Alim's hands down, "What do they say?"

"Queen Anora has mobilized the army to march on Vigil's Keep and Amaranthine – the streets are buzzing. I – I saw them, four battalions bearing the queen's banner." Alim met Zevran's eyes, "What could have happened, Zev?"

Zevran's innards contorted as he pulled away and hurried out of the room, with Alim on hi heels. When he finally caught up, the Antivan was in the dorm.

"Wait - wha, where are you going?"

Nicking his finger over the blade of an enchanted, icy dagger, Zevran replied, "To follow the army."

"Then I'm coming with you," Alim said without hesitation, and Zevran caught his arm.

"This is no game, Alim," he said, and his eyes and grip softened, "You are not trained for such things. You will be safe here."

Alim tugged his arm away, "Isn't that what you and Neria always would say? How untrained she was? She just got thrown into a war. And you've been training me. I can help."

"Your sister is a mage," Zevran said, and his next words were under his breath. Sheathing the sword, he continued, "You cannot compare yourself to her."

Flushing rose, Alim's mouth dropped open and he said, "Can't I? Everyone else can - you can - but I can't?"

Zevran growled softly but swallowed it, leaning both hands onto the chest as he closed it and his eyes. He had abandoned her to this, but he forced a modicum of humour into his voice, "Yet she cannot help it, she does not compare, mm?"

"I'm younger than you, but I'm not an idiot, Zev," Alim replied, crossing his arms. "You won't talk about it, you won't tell her, you just come back here inste -"

"There is much you do not know," Zevran straightened up, staring the young man down.

"I know you stayed with her, no matter where she went - while Alistair, as good a man as he is, left," Alim taciturnly said, "But you show up two weeks ago, out of the blue, without her."

Zevran's lips quirked in a grin as he said, "Have you not enjoyed my company?"

Alim blushed and uncrossed his arms, waving his hands, "I don't know who wouldn't. That's not what this is about."

Zevran lightly laughed, "Oh but it is." Reaching over Alim's shoulder, he leant in to press the man back against the wall, "I cannot sit here and let Neria die. Nor can I take you with me to fall on some darkspawn blade."

A number of things crossed Alim's face, but he said with defeat, "Just come back? I was just getting used to having you around again."

"Once I have saved the day, yes, of course," Eyes on the young man's mouth, Zevran nodded and kissed him hard on the lips.

* * *

"You are concealing the truth from us!" The mage said, hitting his hand on the table and casting his dark eyes at Alistair, "There must be some key that you are neglecting in your recount of the final battle. I am growing tired of your glib dribble."

"I don't know what you expect me to say," Alistair replied, almost rolling his eyes, "Or how many times you wish me to repeat myself. I can't tell you something I don't know."

"Migel," Siobhan bridged a hand over her brow, drawing a deep breath. The quill in her hand danced over the page as she shook her head.

"Warden-Commander, if you granted me the authority -"

"Authority that is not mine to give," she tersely replied, blinking lengthily and standing up, "Alistair, you are dismissed for the time being. Remain within the fortress."

Rolling a shoulder as an odd sensation twitched in his gut, Alistair bowed and exited the room. Brant pulled himself up from where he was slumped against the wall.

"Not now," Alistair waved him off and barely stopped as the man's mouth dropped open. They had questioned him all morning. "Maker's breath, I need some air."

"Right - course," Brant replied, crossing his arms and watching him go.

Half lost through the corridors, Alistair eventually found his way by the scent of the snow on the nearby peaks, and he wandered out into the bright sun of a wide courtyard. Archery targets lined one side, and a sparring ring was marked off on the left. Ignoring all the Wardens, he continued walking until he had found some semblance of solitude near the back wall, where the sheer face of the mountain tore towards the sky. White birds fluttered to their nests in hidden cracks overhead as he leant an arm on the stone, his forehead coming to rest just above it as he sighed.

He was doing this for her. He would endure so they never suspected her of anything. Why was he hiding it, anyway? What could they possibly do?

Prevent him from ever returning home. Keep him in some country that - I'm sorry but it is true - smelled awfully like his feet did after walking all day.

The stone was warm under his arm as Alistair sighed again, and pushing off he halted with a start at the woman standing there.

"Oh - sorry, er - am I intruding somewhere?" When she didn't reply right away, he followed with, "You probably can't understand a word I'm saying, can you..."

Fiona smirked before she laughed, "I can understand you just fine."

"Thank the Maker, finally someone that isn't looking at me like a toad that just recited a canticle."

"I remember those looks," she mused, before motioning to herself, "I am Fiona."

"Oh, pardon me," Alistair grinned wearily, "Alistair - from Ferelden - though, I think you've gathered that."

"Rather," she said, brushing her grey-streaked hair over a slender elven ear, "You and your friends have stirred quite the gossip."

"Lucky us," Alistair murmured, relaxing his hands to his hips. When he noticed Fiona staring, he flushed and coughed, "Is - can I help you with something? Or am I not supposed to be over here?"

Scarce fazed, Fiona's sharp eyes turned to him as she said, "You're fine, don't worry so much. I was in Ferelden some years ago - seemed appropriate to come find you."

Alistair followed where she motioned, and they went to sit on a bench along the wall. The stone was warm at their backs, and he stretched out his feet, "Oh? How long ago?"

Smirking as she crossed her hands in her lap, Fiona replied, "Too long. It's impolite to speak with a woman about such things."

"Oh," Alistair cleared his throat, "Sorry?"

Fiona's expression softened into a smile, "How ever have you survived through the wars? Did you really stop the Blight?"

Alistair arched his brow as he looked away and said, "Well, I didn't slay the archdemon, I thought most people knew that. Then again, the way Brant talks to people..."

"Brant?"

"The Nevarran falconer travelling with us."

"Ah," she tilted her head to watch him.

"I was with Neria through Ostagar and the Blight, though - she's an elven mage. Like you," he grinned a little, "Well, but my age I mean, er - there I go again."

"A mage? How do you know I'm a mage?" Fiona's eyes darkened.

"Ah - I was almost a templar. Well, and you're not really dressed like a warrior - though if anyone's taught me not to judge on that, it's Neria," he chuckled sadly.

"A templar," Fiona straightened in her seat, drawing a quiet breath, "Neria is the Hero as it were, then?"

"Don't call her that though. Not that you'll meet her, hmm. Having her here would have made a lot more sense," Alistair ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the wall, looking up at the birds overhead, "So what brought you to our lovely little back-corner of the world?"

Brow arching, Fiona said, "The Wardens, of course. It was a long time ago - when I first became one. It's a bit sobering imagining everyone I went with is probably dead now."

"I - I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"No, it's alright," Fiona raised a hand, inhaling slowly before she said, "You were recruited by Duncan, I take it?"

Alistair's face wiped clear as he said, "Yes - yes, right out of the Chantry. He saved me from it. Did... did you know him."

Fiona smirked and said, "Yes, from when he was your age. And... I know he was lost at Ostagar."

"He was like a father to me, really - more than anyone else," Alistair shook his head and leant forward, elbows on his knees, "It's been... it's been almost two years since he died.. Longer than I knew him, but..."

"He was much more respectable as Commander of the Grey than he ever was as a young man, I assure you," Fiona murmured, regarding Alistair.

"What?"

Fiona's expression softened, "Just a time I have not thought about in many years. I wish I could have seen him again."

"You and me both," Alistair quietly said, looking at his hands.

Fiona turned her head as a mage across the yard waved, and touching Alistair's hands she said, "We'll speak again soon."


	18. Architecture

Slouched in the half-burnt shell of a house near the gates of Amaranthine, Neria's eyes fell half lidded. Defeating the army that had barrelled over her doorstep brought the cheers of the common folk – at least those who remained. With the sounds of battle and the screams of the dying fading, people came out of their hiding places, and what had seemed so bleak flared into renewed hope.

"It seems only a small portion of the populace was infected, m'lady," Captain Garavel reported, standing in the doorframe of the abandoned house.

"And have they been slain?"

The captain's features faltered, "Surely you cannot mean…"

Pushing off the wall, Neria looked up to the man, "You begged me to burn the city – you pushed the hard line of my command, Captain. Yet you will not slay those who threaten the very safety we have fought tirelessly to drive away."

The captain paled as his features drooped to match her own weariness, "There are women, and... and some men I know well, Warden-Commander."

Neria closed her eyes. Three days running on mostly spells and lyrium. Her temples throbbed, though the greatest ache was behind her eyes. But the rotting itch in her belly had finally abated. Licking her lips, she said, "Are they separated from the rest?"

Captain Garavel slowly nodded, his posture rigid, "They are. Though many of the townsfolk wish to see their kin."

Glancing at her companions, Neria could feel Anders' eyes upon her, "Rest here. When I return, we follow on the army's heels."

"Show me," Neria commanded, and they marched out of the impromptu shelter at a brisk pace.

Through the streets, Neria raised a hand now and then to those who gathered their loved ones in the streets, unable to offer a kind word as the sounds of weeping and prayer replaced what had been screams and fire.

As they walked, she spoke under her breath to Garavel, "How long have you been in the military, Captain?"

Garavel directed her up a set of stairs as he said, "Nearly a decade, m'lady."

"You fought in the Blight?"

"I did," he said with a quiet breath, "Though I was not in the front lines at Denerim, I am afraid."

"I see."

They were silent the rest of the way, until finally Garavel motioned to a door at the end of the alleyway, outside of which two battle worn soldiers stood, "I posted my own men at the door. Some of the militia know the ill."

His eyes followed her hand as Neria rolled a vial of lyrium and swallowed the glowing blue liquid. Licking her lips, she would not meet his gaze as she said, "Remain here until I return."

"Yes, m'lady."

It was not long till Neria returned, her obsidian armour slick with a shine, and her shoulders hung with a greater weight. She stalked and planted her armoured foot on exterior of the run-down house. A flicker of golden light sparked off her limbs and the plank ripped off. The mage scarce hesitated as she choked, "Burn it."

"Commander?" One of the soldiers jolted upright.

"Burn the house," Neria's voice cracked as she turned between the men, a head shorter than them all. Summoning a flame in her hand she set the plank on fire and thrust the torch into Garavel's hand. "All within are lost to the taint."

The soldiers cringed back as the Captain hesitated. When Neria would not look away, he moved to set the house ablaze. She marched off without a word.

Nathaniel leant in the doorway of the house as Neria returned, and she almost ran into him. Looking up into his fatigued face, the mage lifted her hands and summoned a rejuvenating rush of light through them him.

"I almost think you could use that more than me," he said, looking back along the road, where a denizen of the city gathered a fallen soldier.

"No matter," she hoarsely said, face drawn, "We must march. From what the… the darkspawn said, you know where this is?"

Nathaniel nodded as Neria pulled out her map, flattening it against the ground, "I am certain it is here – another place father never wished me to go as a boy."

Neria seemed distracted as she nodded, snatching her compass to measure the distance.

"Do you really trust to go this way?"

Looking at the map before glancing up, Neria said, "It is there, mm? Our lookouts report that is where many of the darkspawn have been retreating to. So it is as much logic. I – I don't know what to think of him."

"Yet you let him go."

Neria swayed a bit as she stood up, and she had to blink rapidly, "Just go wake Anders and Sigrun."

Wandering into the road before the city, Neria emptied her water skein. It seemed a thirst that would never abate. Captain Garavel was marching through the gates with the remainder of his men from the Vigil, and she met them.

"We are ready to march with you, Warden-Commander," he said rigidly. "They have had some rest."

Walking amidst the men, Neria met their tired eyes, and standing before them said, "You have all fought well and bravely. It is through your actions the city of Amaranthine stands and her people still breath. It is through the sacrifice of our brethren that we were the rock upon which the tide broke."

Pausing as they silenced, Neria reached overhead, and drawing down the power, a bright burst of rejuvenating, golden light flushed through the crowd of soldiers. There were quiet murmurs of relief as she continued, "Thus I command you to stand yet and hold back any that may threaten her still."

"M'lady, you surely cannot pursue the rest of this army on your own."

"This city needs you and your men, Captain," Neria said, and he stiffened when she touched his arm, "More than I do. We are Grey Wardens. We will follow the darkspawn and obliterate them to the last."

"May the Maker watch over you, Commander," one of the soldiers spoke up, and another soon answered.

"The blessed prophet guides your hand!"

"The Maker turned His eyes from all of us long ago," Neria said, the cold in her heart seeping into her voice as she turned away, "You as well as I know that the Chantry teaches. May He be damned if He watches and lets us suffer so."

The soldiers were stunned into silence, and the trio of Grey Wardens appeared from within the ramshackle house as Neria said, "To your posts then. And may your blades be strong and your arrows be true."

* * *

Alistair shook his head as Brant made a comment under his breath, motioning across the room. By their side, the boisterous laughter of the young Warden Ewald echoed above the murmur in the dining hall. The young man's expression cleared.

"Alistair, that reminds me, I am to take you to the Commander after the meal."

"Again?" he asked, ripping his bread in half.

"Come on, give the man a rest," Brant said with a grin, "Or perhaps she wishes to see you for another reason, eh?"

Alistair's cheeks flushed as he finished his meal and murmured, "I'm not sure she's my type. Or my age."

"Not into the older, more experienced ladies," Brant waggled a brow, leaning on his elbow, "Could always send her my way. Or I'm certain Ewald here would gladly step in."

Ewald snickered and shook his head, adding, "Her partner went for his calling last year. I don't think she sees anyone else."

Alistair's expression darkened, and he quietly said, "I don't think I could just let Neria go."

"But would you let her join you?" Brant asked.

"No," Alistair replied.

"Think you could stop her?"

Alistair shook his head and pushed back from the table, "I'll find a way."

"You can't stop it, you know. Maybe it's something… to be thankful for."

"That she has to die beside me? Rather than thinking she would live a healthy life for years to come after?"

"At least she is alive," Brant looked back to his meal as Alistair stood and left.

The Commander stood from her desk as Alistair was allowed into her study, and his eyes flecked to the window, where three mages stood. Migel, who had been questioning him about the Blight, stood prominent amongst them, his hands hidden.

"Alistair," Siobhan flatly said, her hands hanging at her sides, "I am pleased you came on your own without incidence."

"I'm not sure what you mean, ser," Alistair furrowed his brow, and he turned his head as two guards grabbed him from behind. "Hey – hey! I've done everything you've asked."

"Except tell us what happened," Migel snapped, stepping up to the Commander's side. "We have been accommodating enough, but your silence will not protect you anymore. Bring him to the tower."

The door to the study opened and Alistair was forced into the hall, as he pulled in the guards arms.

"What more do you expect of me, I don't know what you want!" His voice echoed down the hall, and he saw Leonie arguing with the archer by the door.

"Alistair, what is happening? Our things have been moved, when I saw you – _connard_ , get your hands off of me."

When Alistair struggled again, he felt the well of magic in his chest, and unable to pull his arms free, the glyph flared bright at his feet. It was like lead in his veins, and he gasped as he went limp, and the guards almost dropped him to the ground.

"Bloody templars," Migel whispered, motioning to his fellow mages as he spoke to the guards in his native tongue, "Pick him up and follow me."

"We are your brethren," Leonie called, hand tightening into a fist as she stepped back from the man blocking the way. She ran her tongue in Orlesian, "Do you know what he has done for us? For all of Thedas?"

* * *

On the heels of the army, Zevran fled north from Denerim, catching up as they engaged the horde within sight of the Vigil. Bloody blades flew, and as he tore through the darkspawn, the dread in his belly grew. The din of battle, death cries and suffering faded into a throb behind his senses as he pressed forward, despite the ache in his feet.

"Brasca," he murmured, inspecting his feet. _You have grown so soft, you once walked with her twice this in a day._

Large swaths of the keep's outer walls were breached, caved in and strewn with the bodies of men and darkspawn alike. They filled the outer keep, writhing and moving like maggots swarming on a corpse, gorging on the remnants. Smoke rose over it, marring the morning sky with shadows, and the surrounding farmland was stained with the taint he knew too well.

It was like the first day they arrived at Vigil's keep. The smell of burnt flesh and taint was in the air, mingled with blood and sweat and burning. Always burning.

Spinning to sink his sword in the spine of a genlock, Zevran laughed out coldly, his limbs singing as he flowed. Lips pressed tight, his face contorted as he felled the darkspawn around him, pushing the bodies away. He stepped over the dead with nimble feet, avoiding the monstrosities that lay dead everywhere, spotted by the bright silverite of the Vigil's soldiers.

Faces he scarce recognized, young men who had come from the fields to fight. He found one alive in the lee of a burnt out stall some distance from the wall, struggling to breath.

"Alec," Zevran grabbed the man, "Where is she? Where is the Commander?"

Coughing a spat of blood, Alec slouched under the Antivan's shake, his eyes sluggish, "She's gone."

"Che?" he choked, looking as he saw movement nearby. Zevran dropped the soldier, who groaned in pain. Whipping out his bow, an arrow was notched and flew to pin the rousing darkspawn back to the ground. The collapsed soldiers beyond it stirred, hauling to their feet.

Shouldering his bow and readying his blades again, Zevran darted to the gate, where a clot of soldiers fought a large band of darkspawn. The Queen's army was gaining ground, with more and more of the vile creatures falling. A shush of arrows flew around them, and the remaining soldiers pressed back into the keep.

Abandoning the men by the gate, Zevran flew through the straggling darkspawn, growing more calculated in his methods the more destruction he saw. The stalls were burning and the houses were half-collapsed. All the work she had done and more – it was all gone. Up the ramparts he found the remnants of the Vigil, the wounded lay just barely out of reach, tended by a lay sister from the Chantry. He almost ran full bore into Varel.

"Zevran, you -"

Zevran caught the seneschal by his cuirass and snapped him against the wall, "Where is she?"

Aged eyes wide despite the fatigue, Varel pried Zevran's hand off and said, "Amaranthine. She marched with no more than a handful."

Zevran let out a deep breath, spinning off his foot and regaining his composure, "Then she is not dead."

"I don't rightly know," Varel replied, unshouldering a satchel to hand to one of the few standing men. "Take these to the sister."

"What do you mean?"

"The city was sacked - the night she left, an army of darkspawn descended on us. We... we haven't heard a word. It's been days."

"She is alive," Zevran heatedly said, thumb playing down the dagger on his belt, "She has faced much worse."

"The men know you," Varel said, clutching Zevran's upper arm and receiving a cold gaze in return, "Oghren is alive, but we have no healers. Velanna... Justice... they are gone. All the Wardens are gone, and there are men ill."

"Queen Anora has sent her army from Denerim, they are outside the gates."

The relief on Varel's face was almost palpable, "Thank the Maker our runner got through."

Zevran's expression was hard and illegible, "Indeed. But what of our dear Warden-Commander?"

* * *

It was late afternoon when the landscape changed, and upon a ridge, Neria signalled them to stop. They were in the lee of a massive cage of bones, and odd fires burnt through the coming lands.

"I've never seen this place before," Nathaniel said, sagged on the ground. They had been going nearly non-stop on the heels of the darkspawn army. "How – how did we even get here?"

"I think those woods would be enough to keep anyone out," Sigrun murmured, hanging her head as she rested her eyes.

"Mother always said that no one passed through them."

"There is magic in them," Neria quietly said, looking in the distance. There were darkspawn – they were fighting one another. "Latent, but it is there."

"Glad I'm not the only one who felt it," Anders replied.

Nathaniel crept up beside Neria as she cracked some of the straps on her armour, letting air in. The day was hot, and the blood and taint had joined with the sweat soaking her to reek.

"Do you think they are darkspawn from the... the Architect?"

Neria laid her head against the sun-bleached bone, peering at the fighting in the distance, "I do not know. Perhaps. Did that messenger not say he was coming after this 'mother' as well?"

"I can't believe you let him go."

"Then you kill them next time," Neria coldly replied, slumping further. "I think we can afford to rest a little."

"I'll take a watch," Nathaniel said, crouching in the roots of a dead tree to watch the army.

"Wake me in an hour or two. You need rest too, Nate." Neria laid back and looked at the darkening sky, feeling the remnants of magic and lyrium ebb at her control and tug her into a half-formed sleep.

Nathaniel woke her in a cold sweat, and Neria huffed, feeling the lyrium withdrawal gnaw at the back of her neck. She dismissed him and the look he gave as she stood up and walked to the edge of their cover. The armies were still mashing, but it seemed as if some progress had been made – but who could tell? They were farther away, deeper into the seeming graveyard of mythics.

She could feel them all, from across the hills they plied at her innards, another sort of itch and disease that made her antsy. Neria rubbed over her lips, a numbness lingering there. There was something so familiar about it all, but she couldn't remember. Instead, her fingers drifted to clutch the small phial that hung around her neck.

If she left now, no one would know. Someone else would come to destroy these monsters – some other, more wanting Grey Warden. Would he even come looking for her? Either of them?

Neria clenched her jaw, dry eyes focused on the distant darkspawn, and her head turned as a large shadow passed overhead. She didn't move, steadied on watch with her sword, stiff and aching – waiting. When she eventually woke them, night had taken hold.

"To think, I didn't imagine this could get more creepy, but here we are," Anders murmured as they roused and snuck after the darkspawn.

The creatures lay dead everywhere, evidence of the infighting. It didn't take long for them to hack through the stragglers and reach a crumbled clearing before a tower.

"Do you think this is where it is?" Sigrun whispered, the night too quiet.

"I don't know," Neria said, her skin crawling. "This is where they fled to."

The thud of pressure in the air overhead buffeted their limbs, and Neria turned as a rousing roar shook the ground.

"Sweet Andraste's knickers," Anders stuttered, his robes whipping tight against him as the dragon swept over them.

When the fire coated the ground, they scattered, rolling over the stone to barely escape the searing flames. Winded against a broken pile of bones, Neria clamoured back to her feet, ghostly glowing form difficult to track. A spat of flame flowed through her, and she drew her own magics in reply.

A massive boulder clattered the dragon in the face, drawing a snarl as arrow and axe alike found purchase in the creature's tough hide. With a beat of its wings, it was in the air again, and Neria floundered for breath as she searched for it in the black, overcast sky.

"What in sodding hell is that?" Sigrun cried from nearby.

"A high dragon," Neria replied, panting before she summoned another aura around her. The ground flared to lift, shifting dark mists swirling at her feet.

"She says casually," Anders murmured, shaking his head as he backed towards the door.

Nathaniel's bow snapped and a flurry of arrows shot across to where the dragon landed, eliciting another infuriated cry. The beast turned and swept them over with its tail before laying down another coating of the dark fire.

"Maker's fucking breath!" Anders cried as he collapsed out of the way, rolling to extinguish the flames on his robes.

Shaking his head, Nathaniel stumbled, burns licking up his arm. As a wash of healing light embraced him, he steadied his bow again, and a line of arrows marked up the dragon's neck. Neria sunk her blade in the beast's hindquarter, the magical blade freezing the flesh around it. On the opposite side, Sigrun's axe sunk deep, and the dragon twisted to knock her away with its head.

It wasn't long before the creature's hide was marred with deep gashes that wept crimson, and more than one place was riddled with ice or electrical burns. Neria hung against the tower, bent over as nearby Anders downed a vial of lyrium. Hobbled, the dragon partially collapsed, jaws snapping as Sigrun barely evaded its maw. Another volley of arrows hit home, spearing its eye and drawing out a tremulous bellow.

Swinging her blade, Neria turned and cried out as it caught up the underside of the dragon's neck, and as the hot blood spilt she shuddered. The dragon collapsed around her, and she spun with a trained finesse to stab the Spellweaver into its skull and pin it to the ground. This time there was no light or searing song in her mind, and she stood over the fallen dragon panting, gripping her sword tight as the pool of blood seeped around her.

" – Neria!" Nathaniel drew her arm back, and she stumbled as her fingers were pried away.

"You've done that before, huh?" Sigrun said, expression hidden under her helm.

"Not my first party," Neria absently said, looking at the dragon again before tugging out her blade with both hands. Sheathing it, they turned to the door, and she felt over the stone with her gauntleted hands. A gnawing itch rose in her gut, a sickened shiver that rose up her spine.

"So you have come," the voice came from nearby. "I had feared you would not."

Skin crawling, Neria turned to see the Architect atop a nearby ridge, "You are here - living up to your name. Orchestrating all this suffering."

The dwarf at the Architect's side raised her axe and made to move.

"No, Utha," the Architect touched her shoulder as a nimbus of plasmid light whorled around him, and he levitated off the ground. "Enough blood has been shed through our misunderstandings."

"Get back," Neria hushed to her companions, her hand trembling as she looked back to the creature, "What reasons do we have to trust you?"

"Our goal is one and the same – we both seek the end of the Mother and her army," the Architect sighed, seeming emotionless despite his words, "She is my greatest regret, and for her actions, I am sorry."

"You had a hand in it? Did you teach her to speak?"

"I did more than that," the Architect replied.

"Neria, what are you doing – he is a darkspawn, he should be dead," Sigrun asked, furrowing her brow. "We don't talk to darkspawn, Grey Wardens kill them. And if you won't, I will!"

"Sigrun, wait," Neria put a hand out, and Nathaniel snagged the dwarf's shoulder. "What did you do? How come the darkspawn gather – how come they – how come you talk?"

"It is as I've said to you before - we are similar in the separation we feel from our kind," the Architect smoothly said.

"What is he talking about, Neria?" Anders asked.

"We are not the same."

"None the less… I have always been different. Where my brethren felt the call and song of the Old Gods, there has always been silence in my mind," the Architect ruminated. "Once they were freed from such a compulsion, their minds turned to other things. Some learned to speak, and others live their lives in the deep – but some, some I fear were driven mad by the process. Such is the nature of the Mother – she was one of the first to undergo the transformation."

"What transformation – what did you do?" Neria heatedly asked, the knot in her stomach twisting and rotting.

Matter-of-factly, the Artchitect replied, "In a manner quite similar to your own Joining. Through it, through drinking the blood of my kind, Grey Wardens gain immunity to the taint – and to the song of the Old Gods. Through the ritual I devised, my kin were able to take in that same resistance, and no longer heed the call.

"Utha was one of the first to ally with me – through her blood and yours, it was made possible to free them."

Neria clutched her arm, "In the mine. You took our blood. Just as you did when you attacked the Vigil – you slew them all for their blood!"  
"That was an unfortunate misunderstanding, when I sent my emissary, the Withered, to Vigil's Keep. It was a mistake… and I cannot fault the Wardens for defending themselves."

"Then what about me – what about my mind," Neria cried, stepping closer as she shook, "It was you all along, it was your voice. You have not wished for an alliance at all. You seek to use us."

"I wish nothing more than to free my brethren from their enslavement to the Old Gods – and to stop anymore Blights from ever happening," the Architect calmly replied, "Is that not what you too wish? Utha was one of the first to join my cause."

"And she betrayed her people!" Sigrun said, throwing Nathaniel's hand off. "Why are you listening to him? You aren't honestly thinking of helping him."

"I…" Neria was at a loss as Sigrun spun her shoulder, and she quietly said, "I need answers. All I have been doing for two years is killing darkspawn."

"I died so that I might kill them, and I will not let mine or Varlan's sacrifice be in vain," Sigrun drew her axe as Neria held her.

"You have not lived through a Blight."

"I don't have to, Commander. I lived through it every day. The dwarves live through it every day of their lives!"

"Trust me, please," Neria quietly said, "As your Commander."

Sigrun made a frustrated sound and stalked back, glancing from the Architect to Utha as she still gripped her axe.

"Who is the Mother," Neria asked, looking back to the Architect.

"She was one of the first I awoke," the Architect regrettably replied, "From early on, she was different. She was thankless. It seemed the freedom drove her mad, and she began amassing… weaker darkspawn to her cause. To re-find the song."

"Then what is to keep so many more from doing the same? From coming to the surface seeking blood and destroying innocents with their taint?"

"I do not know," the Architect admitted, "But should you help me defeat her, her army will scatter back underground. Without her direction, they will flee. And I shall go too, that I might continue my research and ensure no Grey Wardens need die in the Blight again."

"How can we trust him, Neria," Anders quietly said, and his voice drew her attention. "All this has happened because of him. What else might have – or might happen – so darkspawn can walk free? The things we've seen…"

"But what if it does end the Blights? Think of everything you went through – of all the people, all the soldiers who died because of it? All the Grey Wardens…" Nathaniel said.

Something cinched Neria's throat, and she looked away, "Don't you dare speak it." Her voice gained strength, "You are warped – your very blood a taint to all the true life of the world. I… I cannot let you go. This has all happened because of you… because of what you try to do."

"I had hoped we might align, but I cannot let the Mother live," the Architect coldly replied.

"She won't," Neria snapped, "And neither will you. I will make sure no more Grey Wardens suffer at your hand."

"You may try," the Architect said, and in a flash his bony hands unfurled and the yard before the tower erupted into flames.


	19. Paid in Blood

Leonie slammed her fist against the door, cursing loudly in Orlesian before she turned, glaring still at the door.

"Lentement Leonie, what happened?"

"That _salope_ Siobhan has locked away Alistair," she replied, putting her hands on her hips. "The mages. I think they took him to the mages. I am sorry, cherie, I do not mean it that way."

"I know," Anne-Laure said, draping an arm over the back of her chair as she furrowed her brow. "Why would they take him?"

"He did something, I know he did - or he is covering for that elf of his in Amaranthine," Leonie said, her words hurried together. "He will not tell them, he protects Neria so fiercely. She should be dead, but she is not, and they will not believe his thin façade of stupidity."

"I don't know if it's always a façade," Brant murmured, sitting on his bunk. "So we are confined to this wing?"

"They will not say it, _mais oui_. Like pigs for the slaughter, they pretend everything is fine, we are friends, but non," Leonie sighed, stopping her pacing when Anne-Laure touched her arm.

"I brought him to this. Some honour, or duty bound thing. I knew they would not be kind, but I never imagined this."

"You could not have known," Anne-Laure quietly said in Orlesian. "How could you have known?"

"The Commander has not been at the meals – have you noticed?" Brant idly said, turning over a small trinket in his grasp.

Leonie turned and Anne-Laure looked too, though Brant seemed distracted as they stared.

"She seemed to make a point of going before. But she has been absent the past few days," he murmured, before crossing his ankle over his knee and sitting back.

"How can we make presumptions about her habits, Brant?" Leonie asked with a sigh. "She seems like a rather busy woman."

"No doubt," Brant said, rising from the cot to cross the room. "Coming for supper?"

"You want to go eat. At a time like this."

"What else do you expect to do, Leonie? Storm the tower and rescue the damsel?" Brant smirked and looked at her, "We have to think. Maintain the upper hand."

Leonie threw a hand, " _C'est le foutu bordel. Allons'y_."

With her arms crossed, Leonie paced down the hall behind Brant, Anne-Laure at her side offering a conciliatory smile. She walked like a brooding lion, ignoring the eyes and greetings of the other Wardens they passed. He led them into the dining hall and found a table along the far wall, and they sank down with a bowl of stew.

" _S'asseoir et manger,_ _il a dit_ ," Leonie murmured, glaring down into her stew. They ate in relative silence, until a group of mages entered. "That is him."

The mages swept through the room, walking with a casual confidence to a specific, unoccupied table. Most of the Wardens gathered for the meal ignored them, but Leonie's eyes intentionally burrowed.

Leonie mopped a piece of bread in the stew, "He was with Siobhan when they took Alistair away."

"You're so subtle, Leonie," Brant murmured, finishing his meal. Smacking his lips, he pushed back, "Excuse me."

Brant followed the along the wall to where the casks of ale were, grinning as he saw one of the Wardens they'd met in their time at Weisshaupt. Exchanging a few quick words in Nevarran, he filled a flagon as they chatted, eyes over the man's shoulder.

Most would not have noticed the contingent of men standing nearby the mage's table, their eyes glassy and their movements distracted, but Brant falsely laughed before drinking his ale. He made to move when he was alone by the casks, but found his way impeded by an older woman.

"You're with Alistair," she said, stepping into his path.

Brant raised his brow, offering a diplomatic smile and his hand, "Not with him, but yes, I came here from Cumberland as he did. Brant."

Fiona glanced at his hand before saying, "Fiona. Where is he?"

"Why ask me? Shouldn't you know that?" Brant casually said, strolling away and forcing her to follow, "Unless the robes are just for comfort?"

Crossing her arms, Fiona replied, "I am a mage, yes. Are you supposed to be some sort of rogue? Or just a knave."

Brant laughed once, glancing sideways at her, "Only in the best ways, I assure you, milady."

Fiona almost rolled her eyes, drawing a breath as she glanced back at Migel. Seeing he was still distracted, she said, "Something is amiss."

"And what makes you say that," Brant murmured, still gauging her.

"Do not play the fool," Fiona sighed.

"Who said I'm playing."

Fiona bridged a hand over her brow, her expression smoothing calm, "If you would like to speak seriously, I'll be in the village tomorrow morning."

When Fiona left, Brant idled back to Leonie and Anne-Laure. The former chevalier leant forward as he sat back down, "And who was that?"

"A mage," Brant smirked, leaning onto the table, "I like her."

* * *

A light around the edge of the door spilt into the room, and Alistair turned his head, unable to shield his eyes. A large qunari inked in lyrium stalked into the room and hauled him up by his bonds. Alistair groaned through the gag, his limbs crying out, stiff and unmoved. He had lost track of the time in the dark, settling through a panic and fear before a sick dread mingled with the tug of distant Wardens was all that remained, eyes unable to focus in the low light.

Alistair made a muffled sound, before pinning the gag with his tongue to try and breath. The sense of magic joined the nausea in his stomach as he was led into a wide, windowless chamber.

Four mages were caught mid-trance, an air of magical energy flowing between their uplifted arms. Each moved in near unison, manipulating their connections with the Fade. Alistair's head whipped between them, caught by the dark, glistening stains on the ground.

"There," a man's voice firmly interjected, and the qunari jerked Alistair sideways.

Forced to his knees, Alistair tried to lift his head, only to meet the rock-solid hand of the guard. In a moment his bonds were linked to the ground. Testing them, he was unable to move from the cowed position. Finally he looked up the hem of the robe before him.

"There will be no lies this time," Migel coldly said.

Alistair tongued the gag, turning his chin as Migel brought a blade across both of his cheeks. The cuts stung and blood flowed, and he made a muffled sound as the mage moved away. Blinking rapidly, he tried to steady his breath at the panic that rose, feeling the magical energies ascended his spine.

When he turned back to Alistair, Migel's eyes swam red, and the Arcanum he uttered rose above the murmured chant of the other mages. Alistair tugged at his restraints, feeling his pulse in the weeping cuts on his cheeks and the hard thud of it in his ears. The chain jerked, clanking and biting into his skin, but wouldn't give, and he leant his weight to pull them.

Migel stabbed his hand, and an effusion of blood misted into the air around them both, splashing and magnifying as he spattered it on the ground. Alistair gasped, almost falling forward, and the bonds cut into his skin. His pulse rose in his ears, and suddenly there was another presence in his mind.

Alistair jerked the chain, shaking his head and growing more panicked as his vision swam. He moved his lips in some remnant of a prayer, unable to form the words, using it as a focus to brace against the invasive magic. A backhand lashed across his face, and Alistair blinked fast, holding the fortified cage of his mind as he looked up to the mage.

Grabbing Alistair's hair with his bloodied hand, Migel jerked his head back, blood-swimming eyes glaring down. His voice carried a multi-faceted tone as he pressed the bloodied blade against his neck, "None of your tricks, templar."

Alistair furrowed his brow and jerked his shoulder, easily stronger than the mage that stood over him, but Migel pressed the blade in, cutting a thin line and spilling more of his blood. Tucking the knife in his belt, the chants of the other mages rose as Migel smeared his hand around Alistair's throat, palpable strands of magic glowing red and coalescing. Stepping back, he manipulated the Fade, and with the right words, Alistair went rigid.

The weakness, sting and rush of pulse faded as the edges of his vision closed, and Alistair tried to cry out – but no sound came. He could feel the space beneath his skin, the shell of his body as he looked through the windows of his eyes. It was fear, and the darkness nearly took over once more – locked away in his cell, but this time that of his own limbs.

The room sounded muted and distant, and he thought for a moment that death must be something similar – that it was, he remembered the times the light would fade. His breathing felt heavy – breathing that wasn't his. Breathing his body did on its own, and no response came to the panic that rose. Migel's eyes moved into focus again as he lifted Alistair's chin and removed the gag.

It was not death. He was trapped.

"Now," Migel said, his voice spliced between octaves and his blood-red eyes holding Alistair's gaze, "Tell me exactly what happened when the Grey Warden Neria killed Urthemiel."

The words spilt without thought.

* * *

Anders stopped and fumbled with the lyrium vial, drinking a burst of the bright blue elixir before sighing. All around them darkspawn lay dead, and the walls crawled with writhing, fleshy sacks, burning under the flame he had brought. Behind them, the Architect and innumerable childer lay dead. Neria flagged beside him, and he quickly cast rejuvenation that drained some of the weariness from their eyes.

"Can you feel her?" Sigrun asked, eyes sunk into dark circles.

Neria nodded, sweating under her helm as she roused herself. She wanted nothing more than to suck back a vial of lyrium, shaking with fatigue and need. "Come on, let's get this over with. Someone's going to die one way or the other."

"So very rousing," Anders replied, peering at her. "Lurching us with you to some graceful insanity. "

"Sigrun," Neria nodded towards the door, and leaning their weight into it, the stone breached. The light from the expansive, damp chamber cracked through, and the squeals of the childer rang as they scattered back amidst the distant tentacles.

Laughter precluded the phlegmy, high-pitched voice that greeted them, "And so she comes, she comes with the Father dead, traipsing to the song."

"Maker's breath," Anders paled as his steps faltered, and Nathaniel pushed past him to take Neria's side.

"Bringing all her little pretties, come to stop another, the hero of the hour," the Mother swayed, her breasts sagging as her bloodshot eyes rolled, and she laughed again. One of her tentacles dipped, bringing the childer to her greyed, dead flesh. The spawn scuttled to latch on a breast and the behemoth darkspawn locked eyes on them. "Has she come to kill the Mother too? My brood for a song, the calm, the calm!"

"What is it…" Nathaniel blankly said, still staring at the Mother's wriggling, dripping girth.

"A broodmother," Sigrun replied, fingers tight on her blades as she rocked on the balls of her feet.

"You are the… creature that sent an army of darkspawn to Amaranthine? To Vigil's Keep?" Neria asked, her voice echoing through the watery, underground cavern.

The Mother laughed again, her spindly hind legs fluttering as though in thought, before she said, "She did as wished, it killed the Father, now we might hear it once more. He brought the silence, he did," The corpulent bulk quivered as she lamented, "But no, no, she went and killed the Mother's children in his name – and then killed him too. Such a pity – such a pity."

"Are we just going to stand here and listen to its life story?" Sigrun asked.

"This ends here," Neria said, raising her blade to summon forth a chill. The frigid spell burst in the air, coating the childer and the tentacles in ice. The Mother screeched, her face splitting in twin to reveal a ghastly visage beneath, and the tentacles break free, swiping through the Wardens and knocking them back.

The ground shook beneath them, and Neria fell back through a ripped birthing sac, only to be pinned to the ground by a legged childer. The demented darkspawn snapped and pecked at her armour, shrieking and rattling her senses. The elven mage swung her arm, unable to breath beneath the corpulent girth of the maggoty creature.

Nathaniel rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding a writhing tentacle as he readied his bow. The arrows caught a few of the childer against the ground. As he notched another, a whirling vortex of fire leapt up from the ground, charring his mail and singing his hair. Coughing for air, he stumbled aside, discarding the burnt arrows and scrambling for more.

From his vantage, fire leapt from Anders fingertips, coating the advancing darkspawn in the flames. It scarce impeded their egress, and he fell back from their snapping jaws and blades. A black haze appeared at his command, the ground swirling under his feet, and each of the darkspawn staggered with wracking pain.

Rolling and glowing a translucent gold, Neria's sword sliced through a tentacle, and the length nearly fell on her as the Mother shrieked. Suddenly the world tilted, and a vice cinched around Neria's chest, the armour buckling. The seams slipped against each other, and she cried out, the sound choked as she was flung into the air.

Neria hit rock hard, and crumpled to the ground before stumbling to her feet, scarce casting a spell to heal herself before the tentacle hit her again. Nearby, Sigrun swung her axe, slicing open the belly of the Mother and earning herself a clutch of childer. A number of arrows followed, and a vortex of light swirled at Neria's feet, lightning leaping through the tentacles and darkspawn.

The Mother's face split again, and a foul, burning acid spewed over Sigrun and Neria as they fought at her belly. Each staggered back, while behind them flashes of light followed from Ander's hands. Neria spat out the fluid, feeling it crawl on her skin, and screamed as she swung her sword up and lopped off two of the broodmother's breasts, spilling dark, cold blood.

Fat tentacles swung, and Neria fell to her knees to avoid them, though Sigrun took it in the face. She could hear pained screams behind her, an acute suffering in her chest at the plight of her fellow Wardens, but the mage was back on her feet. An effusion of cold rippled down her body, and the weakening childer around them froze stiff.

Slicing through a tentacle coming for her Neria stumbled in the pain that lanced up her spine, but clenching her teeth she advanced and stabbed deep through the tainted flesh. The Mother writhed, and her scream gurgled as the Spellweaver tore up and split her adipose, sagging chest wide. Following through, Neria leapt and the blade cut off the sound, nearly decapitating the creature and leaving the head hanging by sinew.

Neria fell hard to the ground, slipping to splash in the pool of blood beneath her as more cries from the darkspawn rang out. Her eyes were watery, but the swirling light around her shifted red, and fire leapt between the monsters. The world slowed, and arrows pitched to finish the job, the flash of an axe rending flesh. The sickening, rotting pull within was gone, and it nearly left her lightheaded. The world blurred again, her pulse in her ears as the sounds of battle bled away.

The thick blood dripped off as Neria hauled herself up, wheezing as Nathaniel caught her arm.

" - it's dead. They're all dead. Neria - Neria!"

"Burn them," she choked, the weariness of their tirade tugging at her limbs, "We must... we must burn the entirety of the ruins... Anders - An?"

"Commander," Sigrun took a knee, pulling off her gauntlet to press her fingers to the fallen man's neck, "He's here..."

Ripping off her helm, Neria pushed the dwarf back and shook off her own gauntlets to put a hand to Anders' cheek, "Anders, Anders open your eyes!"

Nearly forgetting herself, Neria ordered Nathaniel and Sigrun back as she stood, uncorking a lyrium vial to drink in its entirety. Finger to thumb, she poised her hands and began the incantation, the numbness of the elixir chasing down her throat and clarifying her thoughts. In a moment, the pool of mana rushed from her and the ward burst blue on the ground beneath them, and Anders choked in a wet cough.

Her white hair dripping with darkspawn blood, Neria knelt again, keeping him down as she wiped over her cheek, "Think you could get away from me that easily?"

Ander's head rolled, his eyes unfocused as he gave a pained smile, "Guess not. Ngh. Might be close, though."

Neria gave his hand a squeeze, smiling tiredly before the expression dissolved, "Can you walk? Or should I get Nate to carry you."

"I might just feign being an invalid on principle when you say that," Anders whispered, tensing as he drew a slow breath.

Shaking her head, Neria stood up and healed him once more, before calling to Nathaniel and directing them out.

"I will meet you where the dragon lies," she softly said, her own breathing laboured with pain.

"You shouldn't be down here alone," Nathaniel replied.

"So eager to be burn again?" Neria arched her brow, any levity gone from her face. Checking Anders again as he hung in Nathaniel's arm, she added, "I will not be long."

Alone in the rank cavern, Neria turned back towards the Mother and the slew of darkspawn crumpled almost ceremoniously around her. The light and her hazy, golden Fade presence disappeared, leaving her in the dark armour as she lifted her hands. The palpable connections drew around her, light coalescing in each of her hands and growing to a hot, fiery glow as the wind picked up. At her word, the air burst into flames, and the entire cavern was bathed in her firestorm.


	20. The Pitch

Thumbing his nose in the crisp morning air, Brant strolled amidst the stalls outside the walls of the Warden fortress. He had slipped out under the cover of night, evading the poorly hid guards that minded their room. Shrugging his cloak closed, he scanned the crowds for the mage.

Hearing a bird, Brant turned his head to see Heru coming in to land. He quickly hid his arms, and the gyrfalcon fluttered and screeched.

"Not now, girl, to the armaments," he hurriedly whispered, and the raptor flapped around him, before he gave a hand signal. Screeching at him again, the falcon flew away as Brant lingered in the shadow of the market stall.

He had been watching the path to the fortress for an hourm, when he saw Fiona walk out into the village. Trailing her, she had passed near the smith's when he caught her arm.

"Certain an ailing woman such as yourself should be out in the streets alone?"

Fiona tugged her arm, turning to reprimand him as she stopped. Lips pressed in a line, she turned and drew him with her, "Sodding ass."

Brant grinned in reply, keeping pace with her.

Winding past the inn, a group of children accosted them, and Fiona smiled and spoke to them quickly. With a wave of her hand a flutter of light appeared, and the children chased the magical butterflies as they escaped down the street. Brant watched them with a peculiar interest.

"Come," Fiona idly said, and they walked to the town centre, sitting in the morning sun on the edge of the fountain. A statue of a griffin stood at the centre, the water running from its mouth.

Shrugging a few nuts from a pouch in his cloak, Brant pulled his leg up beside him and turned towards Fiona, "So. I can't say I have much of a plan yet, it's been difficult to survey the grounds."

"Yes, well there is no need," Fiona calmly said, crossing her hands in her lap as she levelled her eyes at him. "I may have a way. But we must act quickly, I have heard rumours of what they are doing to him. Though this is tight-lipped, even for Migel."

"Why do you want to help us? Don't get me wrong, I'm not being ungrateful. It just seems... well," Brant raised his brow.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but Alistair seems a good young man," Fiona flatly replied, her eyes veiled by her loose grey hair as she looked down, "He doesn't deserve any of this. Not after what he has been through."

"And you know so much, do you?"

"I know enough," Fiona said, looking at Brant, "You are his friend, he's spoke of Duncan I imagine? The former Commander was a ... rather good friend of mine in our youth. Taking care to see Alistair isn't harmed any further seems the least I can do for his memory."

"I apologize," Brant quietly said, exhaling and looking at the running water. "He's better than any of us. I doubt I'd have answered a summons like that."

"He shouldn't have come."

Brant shrugged, pressing his cloak back as he squinted at the sun, "So you have some idea how to get him out?"

"The senior mages are organizing separate from the rest of us."

"More senior than you?" Brant maintained his blank-faced composure as Fiona narrowed her eyes at him, "This has to do with Siobhan too, doesn't it."

Fiona furrowed her brow, "Yes, she has not been herself. There have been peculiar marching orders, and alienation from some of her closest friends. Combined with the fact that the First Warden should have returned prior to your arrival..."

"Mages and leadership troubles, where have I heard that before," Brant murmured.

"I believe I know where he is being kept," Fiona continued, "But I have no reason to go there. As is, I have been..." She pursed her lips.

"What?"

Lifting her chin, Fiona looked through the village, "Let us walk."

On his feet again, Brant followed after, glancing to where a pair of Wardens had entered the square. Soon they had passed beyond the markets, and he looked down as Fiona slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.

"Keep close," she quietly said, tilting her head to him and rousing a lurid grin. "I do not have the same liberties as most of the Wardens."

"Oh?"

"It is of little concern," she impressed. "Don't look, just walk with me."

"But of course, milady," Brant offered a scant grin.

"Given the size of the fortress, the Wardens maintain a stockpile of a wide variety of rare and generally illegal items," Fiona said under her breath, "A lot of good they were for the Blight, but I digress. They are in the west wing, down the hall from the Chantry."

"I see," Brant casually said.

"I do not know all is there, but if you create a distraction, I may see of your mage joining me in tracking Alistair down." Fiona led them through a narrow alley, before continuing in her hushed voice, "I will need another mage with me. If they treat him the way they do... they do their slaves."

Brant stopped in his tracks, his hand slipping back to hold her arm. Fiona's dark eyes turned up to him in warning as he said, "They keep slaves here? And the First Warden allows it?"

"Keep moving you fool," Fiona took his arm and Brant followed as she moved quickly.

"Who is Migel?"

"The Commander's right hand," Fiona said as they briskly strode back towards the compound, "And a blood mage. They are allowed. Any means to stop the darkspawn. He is very knowledgeable."

"I don't like the sound of that..."

"The mage with you," Fiona asked.

"Anne-Laure?"

"I need to meet her."

* * *

Neria collapsed on the road back to Amaranthine, and were it not for a nearby patrol to aide them, they couldn't have made it back to the city. She walked feverishly the last mile, doing her best to keep Anders awake too. Once within the broken gates, they were taken the remnants of her estate. The clean up progressed slowly, the bodies burnt, and the citizens had begun to rebuild.

Collapsing to her knees in the bared ruins of the front hall, Neria finally closed her eyes. They had briefly camped in the hills beyond the dragon bones, and she had taken the watch.

There was silence where the darkspawn threat had gnawed for so many months, hollowed out by the need and want of lyrium. Her pulse felt distant, and her feet ached. The wound in her back wept, unable to be reached, unattended in these days. It made every breath laboured and shallow. It begged for attention, deep rooted, itching and throbbing.

"Neria - oh," Anders moved with careful steps, stripped of his robes into loose pants that were too short. "I need your expert hands."

Back on her feet, Neria moved with Anders, touching near the deep laceration that ran from his shoulder to elbow. It was frayed with cloth and quite dirty, "Do we have water?"

"There is a barrel," he replied.

She sat him in the kitchen, the only room where a fire burnt as the sun set. Gathering a bowl of water, she heated and poured some down the gash. Summoning her mage light, Neria tilted her head, "I have to pick some things out of it... it won't close otherwise."

"Hence why I fetched you," Anders tiredly chuckled, "Do you think Nate would have been as kind?"

"Are they sleeping?" Her voice was a threadbare whisper as she put her free hand over his, "Do you want anything? I'll be quick."

"Just get it over with," Anders murmured, head hanging down.

Slowly cleaning and irrigating the deep wound, Neria finished and took the thread he offered. With knowing speed, she stitched the deep, newly bleeding divide closed. Biting the thread, she unfolded a poultice and applied, before wrapping his arm in a length of cloth.

Anders let out a shuddered breath, his head still hanging, "Thank you."

Neria dropped her hands into her lap, giving a nod.

"You should really get out of your armour."

"Ha ha," she whispered, scarce smirking as she looked at her fingers.

"The dried blood does you no good. However flattering it might be."

Neria wrung the cloth in the water repeatedly, "I need to meet with the Captain and the reverend mother."

"Come on, you need sleep more than any of us. They'll be there in the morning. Or did you forget, you're a hero again?"

Tired eyes still down, Neria absently shook her head. Touching her necklace, she was quiet a time before whispering, "I cannot think of his face. How can I forget it?"

"We've both been drinking too much lyrium," Anders said, testing the movement of his arm. "Do I really have to help you out of that?"

They leant into each other and walked to the private rooms. The walls smelled of fire and rain.

Anders waited in the doorframe as she dragged in, "I'll be here. I know neither of them looked at your wounds the way you fixed ours."

"I shouldn't believe it's just some ploy to see me naked?" Neria quietly asked, gingerly removing her armour.

"Hardly, this is entirely altruistic! I am shocked," Anders replied with a tired grin.

Her voice hitched as the under armour and shirt caught, glued to her body by the dried blood and scabbing, "Please help?"

Furrowing his brow, Anders turned into the room, and the lamps flared brighter at his command, "Neria, why didn't you stop us."

"More people would have died," she whispered, closing her eyes as she steadied the tremor of pain in her voice. She sat on a stool at his urging, "We're alive. I'm alive, that's what matters, right?"

Returning with more water, Anders drenched her to soften the blood. It was a slow process, and when Neria cried out, he whispered, "I'm sorry, we have to get it all off."

"I know," she whispered, crossing her arms over her breasts as her eyes welled with tears. "It's over, right? You do not feel anything?"

Ander's brow remained knit as he cut away the cloth, "Not a thing."

Neria held her breath as he washed out the old wound on her back, dizzy with the pain, ignoring his chiding, concerned remarks, "Just pack it. I-I cannot stay awake anymore."

Anders healed the wound, but it barely closed. Tucking clean cloth into the reddened, reeking stab wound in her back, Anders wrapped a poultice over it, lifting her arms to secure the bandages as he did, "You need a better healer than I."

"I cannot reach it," she whispered, and it prompted a short laugh from him.

Anders pressed another poultice in her hands, "You can put that on that bruise down your thigh. Not sure I'd survive putting my hands there."

Neria nodded a few too many times, her hands beginning to tremble as she looked at it. Tightening her fingers, tears ran down her cheeks, and her shoulders began to shake with the silent sobs. Anders seemed at a loss, looking away as Neria put a hand over her mouth, just barely stifling the sound that threatened.

"Maker's balls..." Anders breathed in, before kneeling down and pulling her in against him. Neria laid her head on his shoulder, cringing into the warmth of his skin as she clutched him.

"I don't know what I would do without you," she choked amidst her tears.

"Be even more dour and serious. Do your own heavy lifting. Set everything on fire yourself," Anders said, eyes turning up as he cradled her head.

"You sound just like him when you say that," Neria pulled herself closer, only the cloth of her bandage between them.

Anders drew a careful breath as he asked, "I don't suppose you'd put a shirt on?"

Neria sat up, blushing and laughing once as she shakily wiped away her tears and stuffily said, "What is this? Anders asking a woman to dress? I wish someone else where here to witness it."

"Yes, and I'm sure I'd be rewarded with an arrow in the back from Nate or a dagger in the eye from the Antivan," Anders murmured, resting back on his haunches as Neria limped to throw on a chemise. She stopped and put her hands over her face, shoulders hunched. "And I don't even want to think about what your templar would do."

Neria shook her head, still covering her face as she slumped to the ground, "What would he do? I will probably never see him again. Either of them. They're gone. Gone because of me."

Drawing a deep breath, Anders got up, "On my knees for you even... come on you."

Neria took the hand he offered, pulling herself up, and before she could move Anders hugged her again. Trembling she almost slumped down again, but he stopped her.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he murmured, resting his chin on her head. "They'll come back and everything will be alright? Would you even believe me?"

"Yes," she softly whimpered, her cheek sticking to his chest from the tears.

"Then don't worry, little sister," Ander's voice softened, "Everything is going to be alright. Alistair and Zevran will be back. Until then, you're stuck with me."

* * *

Pressed in the shadows, Brant held his breath as a pair of Wardens passed, sharp eyes following them in the low light. The evening prayer in the Chantry echoed down the hall, soft murmurs of redemption and light moving in melody. He'd made it in and out of the storeroom with little notice, and the small bag of powder was nestled in a hidden pocket in his vest. It was lighter than it looked, and he grinned despite himself.

This was going to be too much fun.

Keeping his head down, Brant kept a casual pace down the halls once he was back within their wing. The Wardens still within the castle were either occupied in the dining hall or patrolling the ramparts. A large contingent had left at mid-day to investigate a problem some miles to the south – the specifics had been vague.

Slipping back in their shared room, Leonie was on her feet immediately to confront him, " _Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé_?"

Offering a smug grin, Brant put a hand to his breast, "I may have obtained something worthwhile."

"Then show us, this is no game," Leonie flatly said, glancing to Anne-Laure as the mage touched her arm.

Flipping open his vest, Brant unbuttoned the small pocket there and produced the leather bag. He plunked it down in Anne-Laure's hands, "It was rather well organized, I can't deny, I was tempted to take more."

Take more than that and the dagger, he thought, offering a candid smile.

Anne-Laure looked up as she said, "Lyrium?"

"There's lyrium in it?"

"Yes, I can feel it," she replied, furrowing her brow as she tugged open the drawstring, "It looks like sand."

"This is what you got for us, Brant," Leonie said, flexing a hand as she exhaled, "What, do we throw it in their eyes and run, hoping somehow it is an annoyance long enough to serve our purpose?"

"I've heard of this stuff – when I was in Kirkwall," Brant said defensively, "I didn't know lyrium was in it. But it's dwarven blasting powder." When the two women just gawked at him, he added with a grin, "And I know just what to do."

* * *

It was early morning as Brant walked side by side with Fiona, briskly clipping over the carpeted hall.

"I keep wondering – why would they keep mages in a tower here, too?" Brant said under his breath as she carefully transferred the prepped boules into his hands. They stood in the portcullis of a doorway.

"Don't you know," Fiona said straight-faced, "It's a mage's natural habitat."

Brant tried to suppress a grin, and it contorted his face oddly. Fiona replied with a taciturn smile of her own that only exacerbated his grin.

"We'll rendezvous by the west gate as soon as we have Alistair."

"I'll stay hidden with Leonie. I just hope this works."

Fiona's expression clouded as she looked away, "You and I both." Brant was about to speak, when she added, "Let's get this over with."

Brant nodded, and as she turned away added, "Good luck."

"We'll need it," Fiona murmured, hurrying away down the hall.

Turning away, Brant smoothed a hand over his things and snuck to the back of the castle. He was about to slip out the door when an unseen Warden stopped him.

"I'm sorry, we're under orders from the Commander to restrict your movement within the compound."

Brant licked his lips and leaned back against the frame of the wall, "Come on, what really can I do? I just want to make sure she's alright."

The young man arched his brow, hands clasped behind his back.

"My hawk," Brant laughed, "I train them, and I have been unable to see her for some days now."

"Your pet hawk," the guard blandly said.

"My companion," Brant sneered, "I will be ten – no, five minutes at the most. By the Maker, I swear."

The man drew a breath, hemming as he looked down the corridor, "Fine, but if I get in trouble because of you…"

"You won't! I owe you a drink," Brant flashed a bright smile.

Slipping along the wall, Brant looked back and gave a thumbs up, before whistling sharply and looking to the sky. He walked farther as he looked for Heru, when there came a distant screech and the gyrfalcon came swooping in.

"There you are," Brant sighed a smile, extending his arm for her. When she landed, he pulled a bit of meat to offer her. The bird snagged it before nipping at his fingers, "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I've missed you too."

Heru pecked his hand again before letting him pet her, fluttering her wings to stretch.

"I have a bit of a job for you, m'dear."


	21. Freedom

Lying on the straw bed, Alistair stared blankly at the wall. His wounds were healed, but it didn't bring any of his strength back. Nor did it keep the shame from surfacing. Over the past days – it had been days, hadn't it, could he even tell – he had been consistently bled and questioned, unable to control himself. Each day it had been easier for the mage to take from him, weakened by blood loss and very little food.

Would the gnawing knotting in his stomach be so bad if he weren't a Warden?

Neria, Neria, sweet Neria, he though, closing his eyes as tears threatened to well. He had asked in detail about so many aspects of his life, never satisfied with the answers. No matter if they knew all he could tell. It almost sounded as if they would go to Ferelden to find her. They were insatiable.

The door broke open and Alistair shook his head, licking his cracked lips to whisper, "Please… n.. no more."

The inked qunari guard ignored his words, picking Alistair up to all but drag him out the door. He finally found his feet, though they stumbled and dragged as the massive, horned man hurried him down the familiar corridor. Soon he was on his knees, restrained and linked to the ground. He had learnt not to fight.

Light from the mages sparked in the corner of his eyes, as they prepared the ritual, and Alistair didn't look as their leader approached.

"Please…" Alistair whispered, nerves frayed away as he shook his stubbly cheeks, "There is nothing more."

"You have been saying that since day one, templar," Migel flatly said, drawing a familiar blade from his sash, "You should have learnt by now it will come out. There is no hiding anymore."

"You've taken it all," Alistair said, his voice cracking louder, "I cannot hide if I try."

Migel's lips turned in a knowing curve, and he pushed his black hair back over his ear, "Than this will be all the easier. Begin."

The mages surrounding him lifted their hands and joined together in a murmured chant, and sickly yellow light flared to life between them, a web of power coalescing. As Migel lifted the blade to Alistair's cheek, the ground heaved, and the sound of a close explosion vibrated through the stone all around them. He cut deep across the man's skin, and the mage turned as his cohorts were torn from their trance. One fell to his knees, the golden light sucking to him like a moth, and it wormed under his skin, eliciting a frightening scream.

"What in the Maker's name was that?" a greyed mage asked, staggering to his feet and paled from the interruption.

"Bloody Wardens," Migel murmured under his breath, striding towards the door, when a deeper, consuming rumble shook the tower.

Alistair pressed his hands to the ground, looking up at the mages as they fell. A deep-rooted clatter and numerous thuds was followed by the rending of mortar and stone. One of the doors broke off its hinge, and a rack of vials tumbled off the desk against the wall. Dust filled the room, and blood spattered from the flowing wound on his cheek as he coughed.

He had to blink rapidly to keep the particulate from his eyes, but Alistair saw the mages scrambling to get up. Another row of shelving collapsed, and the jars and books clattered to the ground. The man injured by the ritual's disruption had not moved, and the greyed mage was at his side.

"Ephram is dead," he said, visibly shaken.

"Where is that page," Migel snarled, turning on his heel. With a motion of his hand, a well of mana flared blue and the qunari guard closed the door as best he could. "We continue."

A carrot-topped young man frowned, "How do you expect us to channel without Ephram, there are only –"

"Do as I say," Migel cautioned coolly, striding to push Ephram's body from the enchanting circle, "We resume."

"You don't even know what happened," the greyed mage said, though he stood to take his position none the less.

"Our vassals shall deal with the matter," Migel said, retrieving his blade and standing before Alistair.

The templar looked up at him as the mages reassembled, each cutting the palms of their hands before joining into a chant to manipulate the Fade. Migel ran his hand through the slack cut on Alistair's cheek, sighing at the slippery warmth. Turning the blade with a malicious grin, he nicked down either of his shoulders, and the mage's eyes swam red as he uttered the words to draw the haze around them.

Alistair choked, closing his eyes as a new pain blossomed behind them. A ghost rushed over his skin, and the burrowing sensation bled out through his limbs and birthed a scream.

"I will not be so tempered with you anymore," Migel whispered, dropping a foot back as he summoned the blood to his will, "You know what she did. She would have the child by now."

Unable to form words even as he felt pulled out of control, Alistair's neck strained, vein ridges there spreading in fractals up to the cut in his cheek. He clenched his teeth with the dwindling control, nausea rousing his stomach as a separation fled through his limbs.

"Don't you dare touch him," Fiona hissed from her place by the door.

Migel turned, a maniacal grin gracing his lips as he said, "Keep your place, friends. Fiona… what a," His eyes darted from the two female mages to where the qunari slumped, half-frozen and asleep, "Pleasant surprise."

"Cut the sodding act, you have no right to torture this young man," Fiona coiled her fingers around the staff in her grasp. Anne-Laure met Alistair's eyes, tensing as his blood dripped to the floor.

"It was the Commander herself that levied my right to extract the information from him by any means necessary," Migel remained within the triad of mages, the sickly yellow light misting around him. He smiled again, "My, my, Fiona, I've never seen you so worked up over a man. What is special about this one?"

Fiona's eyes flecked to Alistair, the pain on her features hardening as she said, "Stop this. There is no reason to make him suffer."

"Oh but quite the contrary, he will lead me to some of the greatest magical revelations of our age. And in the wake of a Blight, Grey Wardens have more influence than ever – the masses look to us for guidance, beacons in the dark, defenders against the tide."

"Stop your dark fantasy, and let the bloody templar go. He's an ignorant sod," Fiona snapped, "He wasn't even the one who killed the archdemon. There is nothing you need from him!"

"He has taught me a great deal about the one who did though, Fiona," Migel released Alistair's restraints, and at his command the man rose with empty eyes. Blood dripped from his fingertips, "Certainly you can appreciate magic to forgo death – magic to evade one's calling. You would deny it to others?"

Alistair made a muffled sound, trapped in his limbs as Migel issued another command, and he took the offered dagger. An Arcanum word broke the circle of concentration and let Alistair free to move on cotton feet towards Fiona.

"Don't do this," Fiona hurriedly said, dropping back and tugging Anne-Laure with her. She looked to Alistair's face, "You are stronger than this."

"There is no where to go, Fiona."

Spinning her head, Fiona glanced to the door and saw Siobhan there, "Commander…"

" _Obligé de me débrouiller par moi-même_ …" Anne-Laure murmured, and raised her staff. Before she could speak, another rumble shook the tower, the sounds of explosion closer this time. She fell to the side as rock and dust rushed in the door with a burst of air.

The mages on the ground, Siobhan raised her sword, only to be tackled as Alistair regained some semblance of self. Fiona coughed in the dust, letting crack an explosion of fire towards the cluster of mages at the opposite end of the ritual chamber. Migel staggered from the flames, snarling as he captured the older woman in a crushing prison. Gaining his breath, he cut his hand, and Alistair wrenched to his feet at his command.

"Enough," Migel cried, the air still stagnant with dust. There was yelling filtering in from the halls and the floors below. Right then, a bolt split the air and embedded in his shoulder, knocking him off balance.

"What are you doing!" Leonie said from the door, hurrying to Anne-Laure's side as the mage roused.

"We're saving Al," Brant said, cocking another bolt to shoot Migel in the foot and pin him in place before he could cast. "Not stop for afternoon tea."

The other mages were rolling on the ground, struggling to get up as their robes still smouldered with flames. Leonie brandished her broadsword and advanced towards them menacingly. A pair dropped to the ground, and when the third moved, a bolt cracked him in the shin, and sent him squealing to the ground.

"Stop where you are," she said.

Eyes bloodshot, Migel spoke in a multi-faceted tone, "I am just beginning-"

Another bolt flew, snagging Migel's neck and spurting a fount of blood. Floundering, he drowned and gurgled, unable to move far before he slumped face down. Behind them, Alistair and Siobhan crumpled to the ground, and all that was left was the coughing and distant sounds of panic in the floors below.

"Well, that was easy," Brant said, flashing a white smile as Leonie guardedly swung her sword between each of the prostrate mages. Fiona fled to Alistair and Siobhan, ensuring they were alive before she cast a healing aura.

"Siobhan," Fiona said, as the woman's head lolled, and she reached out to stop the Commander before she turned her face into the door jam.

"Fiona, where am -" Siobhan's eyes flashed as she tried to sit up, only groaning as her body protested, "Where is Migel?"

"He's dead," Brant said as he walked over, offering another complacent smile.

The echo of feet down the hall brought a troupe of Wardens with weapons drawn, crowding to their fallen comrade and backing Brant into his companions. He raised his hands defensively as they spoke, and he replied with equal vigour.

"Stop," Siobhan said with as much force as she could, "They are not the enemy. I order you to stand down."

The Wardens turned to her, eager to defend their Commander, but as she spat something quick, they relinquished their weapons. Fiona looked back to Alistair, her smile softening as she saw his eyes open, though he still lay on the ground.

"Are you alright, dear?" she quietly asked, touching the faint scarring on his cheeks and neck.

Alistair flushed as he thickly swallowed, and closing his eyes replied, "I don't know."

* * *

Neria opened her eyes. It was difficult, they were caked with sleep, and the brightness in the room made her want to close them again.

"Thank the Maker," Nathaniel said, and she rolled her head to him. He stood up and went to the doorway, "Anders!"

"Nate," she croaked, scarce moving before she shuddered and started to cough. Each hack brought a clench of pain through her core, and she clutched her chest as she lay back on her side, struggling to breath. "Nate…"

"Stop moving," he said, snagging some water for her as he sat back on the stool and put a hand to her forehead. "It's good to see you open your eyes."

Neria furrowed her brow as she drank all of the water. Even then, it didn't abate the thickness in her lungs and throat. She softly huffed and closed her eyes. Flickered memories of feverish days surfaced, and she tugged the blanket twisted around her torso higher as she blushed, "You took care of me?"

"I did most of the work, truth be told," Anders said from the doorway, striding in to throw a chilled cloth over her face. "Nevermind what that healer from the Chantry wanted to do. Barbaric and outdated, I say."

"We had…" Nathaniel glanced aside, sitting back as he took the cloth from her and dropped it in the bowl of water on the nightstand.

"That's his way of saying you're going to have a nasty scar on your back. I think we got the affected tissue out though," Anders sat down on the bed, pushing her legs out of the way. "You should have had someone look at that from day one. The blade must have been poisoned."

"The Crows," she whispered, touching her throat. Neria turned her eyes to Nathaniel as he gave her more water. "Where – we're still in Amaranthine."

Anders and Nathaniel exchanged looks before the mage dropped his head, "We are."

"We finally heard word from the Vigil, but it isn't good," Nathaniel said, brushing his fingers over the coverlet she clutched. "But, your letter got through to the Queen. Garevel says the royal army arrived just in time."

Brow still furrowed, Neria began to wheeze and cough again as she tried to speak, only to lay her head back heavily on the pillow. Finally, she whispered, "We have to go home."

"You're in no condition to travel, Neria," Anders sighed.

"Where's Sigrun?" she whispered.

"She hasn't been herself," Anders replied.

"She ran into someone she knows in the city."

Neria exhaled out of her nose, unable to move, "But she's never been to the surface."

"But," Anders brightly said as he stood, snagging Nathaniel's shoulder, "It's about time to change that bandage."

A reddish colour crossed the bridge of Nathaniel's nose as he said, "Of course. Best she rests, too."

"Indeed, indeed," Anders said as he ushered the man out the door. Opening a satchel out on her desk, he glanced at her and said, "Least your fever broke?"

"Give me some lyrium," she whispered, eyes closed as she sagged into the bed, feeling an unnatural sleep wash through her. In a moment, she was out.

"Sorry," Anders sighed, throwing back the covers to gingerly roll her, "This is really for the best."

* * *

"Had us worried there for a bit, Al."

Carefully sipping the broth, Alistair looked at Brant from beneath his brow and quietly said, "Never call me that again."

Brant cleared his throat, unable to suppress a grin as he said, "Right, course."

They were sitting at a table outside. Alistair had been adamant about getting into the sun. From where they sat, they could see the rubble from the landslide that had taken out the northern side of the mage's tower. A large section of the fortress wall that seemed to hold back the mountain had crumbled too.

Licking his lips, Alistair closed his eyes, feeling the sun on his skin. They said he'd been in the tower a week. It felt like a lot longer. He felt old and spread thin. Like anything would break in if he didn't maintain himself. A rumbled whimper drew him from his thoughts.

Looking sideways, a pair of large wolfhounds obediently sat and regarded Alistair as he ate. Breaking his bread to dip it in the broth, he watched as the dogs eyes followed. He didn't hear Brant as he tore off bits to throw to each. Snapping them from the air, the dogs advanced closer, and one put its head in his lap.

"Alistair?"

"Hmm?" he looked back, plopping his hand on the dog's head and ruffling his ears.

"What is our plan now?" Leonie reiterated, the worry in her expression softening.

"Can we talk about this another day?" Alistair said, and he drained his broth, before snagging a water skein and getting up. He was away from the table before Leonie could protest. He beckoned the dogs with him. He walked through the halls onto the ramparts, and sitting against the wall, the dog flopped over his lap and Alistair gazed over the surrounding mountains.

He couldn't know about the others, he almost didn't care, Alistair thought as he ruffled the dog's fur. It provided a nostalgic comfort that made him ache inside. He just wanted to go home.

* * *

The sound of troubled breathing was followed by a scream, and Alistair opened his eyes. Two new recruits were in the dorm. He had been awake, either way. Sleep was not something that came easily. Each time he closed his eyes, he could feel the press of the cold stone, the weep of blood down his skin and the ever present chanting. He was thankful when a candle flared, followed by the quiet murmurs in a language he could not understand. It was noise. There were other people, there was light. It was freedom and security.

Reaching for his shirt, Alistair pulled it on and got out of bed as quietly as possible. He tugged the drawstring on his trousers and left the dorm. He almost tripped over the dog in the hallway.

"Oof, hey mister," Alistair whispered, and his voice echoed down the stone hall. Only a fraction of the lamps were lit, and he crossed his arms and tapped a bare foot as the dog circled back. "Better watch where you're going."

The wolfhound plunked its backside down and tilted its head, looking up at him.

"You have no idea what I'm saying, do you."

The dog crept forward and sniffed at Alistair's hand, earning a ruffle in return. Alistair knelt down and gave the dog a furious rubbing.

"You're cute and smelly enough," he murmured, "But you're no mabari."

The dog was oblivious.

"They are fine companions though," Siobhan said, standing in a robe with her arms crossed. "I think they know."

Alistair stood up, ruffling a hand through his shaggy hair as he said, "I'm not sure what they'd know."

There was another wolfhound at her side, and the one by Alistair trotted to Siobhan as she knelt to hug and pat the large dog, "That we need them. That they help us get better."

"Ualan always knew," Alistair said, his voice choked as he watched her stand.

Siobhan raised a brow as she said, "Walk with me."

Glancing back at the dorm, Alistair crossed his arms. It was late summer, and the chilly mountain air penetrated the fortress, "He was our mabari during the Blight. Well, I say ours, but he was hers."

"They imprint, if I recall?"

Alistair nodded, following her through the halls, "He found her after the defeat at Ostagar. One of the best soldiers we could have had."

"I can imagine Rowl fighting," Siobhan smiled tiredly and pat one of the dogs. "He is a push over."

"So I've noticed. Not above begging either."

Siobhan's smile softened, even as she chided the dog in her native tongue, "They should know better, they are fed well enough."

"I'm not sure it's ever enough for dogs, they might as well be Wardens. Bottomless pits."

Siobhan grinned, tucking some of her long, grayed hair behind her ear, "Yes. Will you be warm enough?"

"Me?" Alistair laughed, pausing by the door, "It's summer time. What, is this cold for you?"

"You aren't wearing shoes - or socks for that matter."

"Remember you're talking to a Ferelden native," Alistair murmured, holding the door for her. "Where are we going anyway?"

"I thought you'd like to see the aeries before you go."

"Before I," Alistair shivered slightly as the mountain breeze hit him, "You're letting me go?"

"See, it is cold," Siobhan held her robes close, a shadow over her eyes as they walked in the moonlight, "Alistair, I have not been myself for some time. I believe we have... been through something very similar."

Alistair's jaw hardened as they crossed the bridge, and his nostrils flared as he made to speak, but then the white-cliffs caught his gaze. It was a clear night, and the moon made them glow. The haze of his mind gave wings to what once would have been there, and he shook his head and looked down as he said, "Did Migel torture you?"

"Is it not torture enough to have another in your mind? Another forcing your hand?"

Shuddering, Alistair crossed his arms, "I am sorry. I should not diminish your experience, it is just I...I..."

They stopped together at the foot of the aeries, looking up the entrance of the nests. Siobhan touched his arm.

"I am sorry for all this. But without you - without what happened to you, I don't know how long Migel would have continued to control me," she quietly said, the lines around her eyes deepened from the shadows of night. "Fiona and your friends freed me in freeing you."

Alistair's shoulders drooped as Siobhan slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.

"The landslide almost destroyed them," Siobhan quietly said, motioning to the stone rubble in the distance. "Can you imagine? This is all we have left of them now. We have lost so much."

Alistair exhaled slowly, nodding as he said, "Seems that is the way of things."

Siobhan motioned to a hidden staircase, and it was almost too dark to see. His feet ached on the cold stone as they ascended, but it was liberating. Hadn't Neria always said that? She found freedom and clarity in the cold. The cold penetrated.

"I had planned to talk to you about all this when it was light," Siobhan murmured, but soon they emerged into a wide cavern. White stalactites strained, unable to reach them, but the full moon shone in through the pock marked openings of the carved edifice. "To show you the nests, to show you the view. Short-handing you again."

"No," Alistair found his voice, and he had to clear his throat as they walked towards one of the arched entryways, "No, I appreciate you bringing me here. Though in a way it only adds to the melancholy."

"Indeed," she replied, stopping as they looked out over the moon-gilded mountainscape. She traced a hand over the carvings that lined the exit. "I try to imagine that somewhere they exist and live contently without us. A life that is free."

"That is all anyone can imagine," Alistair replied, hugging himself as Siobhan took her hand back. They walked back through the caverns, his calloused feet growing numb on the stone.

"I am arranging for your expedited passage back to Ferelden."

Standing back up to tuck a found feather in his shirt pocket, Alistair's mouth dropped open, "Pardon?"

Siobhan turned around, and she inclined her head back towards the stairs. She spoke as they moved, "You have endured enough at the hands of those meant to be your closest allies. I will deal with the First Warden when he returns. You... you deserve to go home."

Alistair's mouth thickened, as he nodded and quietly said, "Thank you."

Glancing at him, Siobhan reached for his arm again and said, "I have dragged you around in the cold long enough. You know the way now. Return when it is light before you go."


	22. Reprieve

Word had spread that the Arlessa would be on the road to the Vigil, and the streets beyond the gates of Amaranthine were lined with the survivors of the attack. The merchant's guild had arranged for a carriage, and Neria sat inside with her companions as it moved slowly beyond the gates.

"Not going to wave to them or anything? Don't worry, I will," Sigrun said with a grin. She leaned out the side to wave to the crowds.

The cries of blessings and thanks reached Neria, as she leant back heavily in her seat, "They will see me enough. They will hate me when I levy taxes to rebuild. When I conscript their sons and daughters into my army. They will blame it on the fact that I am an elf. That I'm a mage. And then they will line the streets to damn me."

"You sure know how to liven up a party," Anders murmured, leaning on the side of the carriage as it rocked to waggle his fingers at the passing women.

"It will not be that way," Nathaniel assured her, patting her back gingerly as the elf leant forward.

"I hate carriages," she whispered, closing her eyes. The nausea faded, to be replaced by the strained muscles in her back. Fuddling with her belt, she opened the pouch and slipped a few leaves out, popping them in her mouth.

"It won't take long. The arling wants to see you."

Neria closed her eyes, "Than I should be out there. Beside the driver."

"We could have a celebration!" Anders replied, grinning. "Come on, we all just survived something gruesome and terrible. So did they. What better reason than that is there to get pissed drunk and be merry?"

Sigrun sniggered a little, looking down as she turned the ring on her hand, "Thanks again for buying it from her, Commander."

Neria opened her eyes and looked at the dwarf beside her, "It was the least I can do. Even dead people need nice things."

"I guess so, huh?" Sigrun grinned and nudged Neria with her shoulder.

The carriage made quick work of the road, and Neria napped as the sun rose overhead. The landscape was golden and green, rapidly fading into autumn and the harvest. Reports she had already received said that only a fraction of the land would produce a crop - and that half beyond that would be tainted for years to come. Like so much of Ferelden.

Neria jerked awake as someone squeezed her knee.

"Oo, ticklish eh?" Anders said with a grin, before nodding, "Says we're almost at the Vigil."

"Oh," she quietly said, sitting up to glance at those around her. She braided bits of her hair to keep it back from her face. "Maybe we should get out here."

"Just sit down," Anders smirked.

The carriage halted soon enough and the door swung open, and each of her companions looked to Neria.

"Okay, okay," she murmured, cringing as she moved and stepped down out of the carriage, ignoring the offered hand of the driver. Looking around the lower bailey, emotion choked her throat as she saw the devastation.

"It is good to see you alive, Commander," Varel said as he stepped up. Behind him stood the remainder of their force, flanked by a collapsed spire and curtain wall. The work had stopped upon learning of her arrival, it seemed.

"And you, Varel," Neria hesitated, before giving the older man a hug. It caught him off guard, but it seemed the surrounding soldiers relaxed at the sentiment. "I am so sorry."

"There is no need, milady," he replied, righting himself to clasp his hands behind his back.

"I should have been here," Neria quietly said, and she clenched her teeth to swallow the guilt. Breathing deep, she spoke to everyone, "It gladdens me to see you have survived. That the Vigil still stands because of you."

"Always a golden tongue," Zevran said as he approached.

"Maker, Zev," Neria stepped up to embrace him too, and the Antivan chuckled. "You came back, you are here. I did not know…"

Disengaging himself, Zevran maintained a cool air as he glanced down, "When I heard what was happening, I imagined you, the Wardens, how could they survive without Zevran? They could not make it through a Blight, and so here I am."

Neria squeezed his hand, her cheeks colouring rose, "Good of you to save them."

"I could not save everyone," he replied, stepping aside to show Alim.

"Alim, what are you doing here?"

"He followed against my better judgement when the worst had passed."

"Don't worry," Alim said as he stepped up with a lopsided grin, "I secured the compound, I promise."

"There is much to do, Commander," Varel interjected, and she nodded, following him slowly to conceal her limp. "There have been… heavy casualties."

"I know," she said, her eyes down, "I have read the reports. Take me to the infirmary."

Anders and Neria attended to the wounded with methodical triage. Many had already died from wounds that would have been non-fatal had a mage been present. Most suffered from infection and fever, even after their breaks and trauma had been treated.

"Calevar," Neria quietly said, kneeling beside the boy as one of the women from the kitchen's mopped his brow. "I'm so glad to see you're alive."

"Milady," he softly croaked, skin red with fever.

"Neria," she grinned, "Just Neria to you."

Chilling her hands with a soft word, she put them on his cheeks, and he sighed. Anders brought an elixir at her behest, and she sat him up.

"You need to drink this," she softly said, "It will be terrible, but I promise it will help."

"Mum," he murmured, heavy in Neria's arms as she cradled him to sit, "Please mum..."

"Shh, shh," she whispered, holding the cup to his lips and helping him drink.

The woman sat back, resting her hands as she quietly said, "He lost them all in the siege."

"This will help him rest," Neria said, furrowing her brow. She drifted back to the makeshift alchemy station they had set up. She hung her head and leant heavily on the table. "If we'd come straight here from the city we could have saved so many more."

"And you could have died on the way," Anders said, handing her the elixir he had brewed, "That would have been real productive, huh?"

Taking the vial, Neria turned to where Oghren lay unconscious. Anders trailed her, and he moved as she spoke, "Help me sit him up."

Laying the dwarf against the headboard, Neria supported his head as she poured the ruddy brown elixir into his mouth. It was a slow process as she poured, not wanting to drown him.

"We should cut off his beard while he's not paying attention," Anders murmured, standing as she laid Oghren down. He began the chant that, with the elixir, would hopefully revive him. A blue ward glowed to life on the ground, and in a moment, the dwarf began to cough.

"Sodding stone, what have I been drinking," he groaned as he put a hand to his head.

"Darn, he's alive," Anders said, crossing his arms and smirking.

"Hey boss, when'd you get back?"

Neria grinned as she pulled up a chair and said, "Today."

"Good thing too," Oghren muttered, coughing and smacking his lips, "Save our asses from those darkspawn?"

"No," a shadow fell over Neria's features, "Though I hear you were quite the hero."

"Me? You sure they got the right dwarf?"

Neria grinned and handed Oghren some water, "Yes – the soldiers say ogres and darkspawn galore fell to your might."

"Water?" Oghren took it and drank a bit before making a face, "Woman, if I'm a hero, get me a sodding drink."

Anders rolled his eyes, "Maker…"

* * *

"Alistair," Fiona called and hurried across the common.

Stopping, the young man turned with a raised brow, "Oh – Fiona, isn't it?"

"How are you recovering?"

A shadow fell over Alistair's features, and his eyes dropped, "It… will take time. I meant to find you - to thank you for your help. I don't know what prompted it, but…"

"It's alright," she softly said, touching his arm, "You don't have to speak of it. I wanted to see you again."

"Maybe in time," he ruminated before clearing his throat.

Fiona watched his face for a time, a tug in her chest as she said, "I remember you speaking of your partner – the Hero."

"Yes, Neria," Alsitair said as he found his voice. They continued to walk through the street, "She's an elf like you. Even your magic reminded me of her – I don't know, maybe people wouldn't notice… healing feeling different."

"Do you love her?"

Alistair furrowed his brow, blushing as he pulled his arm away and said, "Well, yes… of course. I – I'm sorry, I do, it's very flattering, but I'm not even su -"

He stopped talking as Fiona burst out laughing.

"Did – did I miss something?"

"Oh dear," Fiona shook her head, "I am not interested. Not anything like that at all."

"I – good. Sorry, I'm not very good at this – at that sort of thing, I mean," he quickly said.

"It's endearing."

"That's what Neria says," Alistair murmured, drawing a smile from Fiona.

"Have I been distracting you from anything?"

"Me?" he asked, pausing in the street before he said, "No. I just... needed to get out."

"Of course," Fiona replied. "Then be company for an aging woman? The tavern makes beautiful pastries in the fall. We can sit, and I can tell you about the trouble Duncan got into."

Alistair grinned and offered his arm, "I would be delighted."

* * *

Sitting in an open alcove of the aerie late in the day, Leonie took a long drag on the pipe, an arm curled around Anne-Laure as she listened to Alistair.

"I'm not really looking forward to being on a ship again, but if it gets me home," he sighed, taking a deep drink of the ale. He was flushed from the drink. "I almost don't believe it, you know? Thinking I get to go home to her."

Brushing his fingers over Heru's injured wing, Brant said, "And what then?"

"I don't know. I don't care, so long as I'm with her," he said, looking over the sun-lit, orange glowing mountains. "If she still wants me. Being Commander of the Grey for Ferelden and all."

Brant grinned smugly, "Quite the position – I'm sure she's had her pick of men."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Alistair drained his glass and stretched a leg to hang off the platform. "I should have never left her with Zevran."

"I'm not sure I would have, from all you've said," Leonie said, a trail of smoke seeping from her nose as she trailed her fingers over Anne-Laure's.

"I am sure she waited," Anne-Laure said, reaching to fill Alistair's glass. "I would have."

Leonie said something quickly in Orlesian, to which Anne-Laure laughed and blushed, offering a coy reply. The chevalier shook her head and bent to kiss the woman's cheek, before the two settled back.

"I uh," Alistair flushed himself, shifting as he said, "Thanks."

"Oh, I would have waited, Alistair," Brant said in false airs, fluttering his eyelashes. Heru squawked at his movement, and Anne-Laure smacked him.

"Maybe I should bring you back to distract Zev," Alistair murmured, smirking. They sat and watched the clouds a while before he looked to Leonie, "Where will you go?"

"Home," she said, eyes down, "However tempting it is to join you, I do not think I would survive the Ferelden winters."

"We will visit," Anne-Laure immediately followed with.

"If we're welcome to," Leonie grinned, "It would be good to see our friends there."

"Yes, see them of course, never mind this lout," Alistair said, "I'm sure you'd be welcome at the keep. Maker…" He exhaled, expression sobering. "Really going home."

"But you will go?" Leonie asked, the pipe between her lips again.

"Well, someone has to," Brant sighed, waving his arm to make Heru flap. The gyrfalcon sidestepped up his arm to his shoulder and head-butted his cheek. When the raptor nipped him, he said, "Ow. I doubt they miss me in Cumberland anyway."

"Probably relieved you've been gone," Alistair grinned.

"Yes, too bad you're not so lucky."

"Maker's ball – I mean, really Brant? How delightful! Thank you - thank you, dear friend," Alistair drank more of his ale as the women laughed.

* * *

Sitting in the front row alongside Nathaniel and Varel, Neria clasped her hands and bowed her head, keeping her eyes open as the reverend mother finished the benediction. She didn't listen to the words, rising at the woman's behest to kneel and receive her blessing. The denizens of Amaranthine looked to her as she smiled and walked down the isle. Beyond the doors of the chantry, the poor waited, and silvers found their hands, soft thanks and prayers offered before they disappeared.

"It is good of you to do this, Commander," Varel said as he stood watch by the door.

Soon enough the mass poured into the street, and Neria smiled through the congregation as they passed. Most bowed, some clasped her hands to kiss them with soft utterances, showing similar deference to the men that stood with her. She had filled out in the weeks since the battles had ceased, and it gave her skin a healthy glow.

"I wanted to thank you for saving the city," Nathaniel said under his breath.

Neria arched a brow, looking towards him as the last women left the chantry, "Decided to get over yourself on that one? I don't need you to thank me, Nate."

"I need to thank you for me," he said a bit harshly, before his expression smoothed, "I spoke with Delilah this morning."

Neria turned back into the church and Nathaniel followed as she quietly said, "Yes, it's good she's alive. Nevermind everyone else here."

"I'm going to be an uncle," Nathaniel quickly said, ignoring her commentary.

Offering as politic a smile as any, Neria turned and gave him a hug, "Then I am glad for you, Nathaniel. Why don't you spend the rest of the week with her."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes," Neria said, pushing his arm, "Go take care of your sister. And let me know if she needs gold for a servant with her husband gone."

"She has taken over the store and hired a young man to run it," he said, back-pedalling towards the door, "She will do well. Thank you, Commander."

Neria touched her throat, parched as she stood in the bright sun pouring in the stained glass windows. Suddenly one of the reasons she had come to mid-day mass seemed trite.

"Commander?" Varel waited patiently for her, and the elf suddenly smiled in reply.

"I will meet you at the estate," she said, clasping her hands together behind her. Crossing his arms, the seneschal bowed and excused himself.

Neria exhaled, looking to where the laymen moved through the pews. She raised a hand as the sister she recognized approached.

"Greetings milady," the lay sister said, clasping her hands and bowing her head. "Blessings of Andraste upon you."

"And you," she replied, shifting uncomfortable, "How has the chantry fared since the siege."

"Donations from the grand cleric have allowed us to help many within the city," the woman said, smiling calmly. "And the reverend mother received word that the Divine is sending an envoy with two priests and coin collected for those suffering in the wake of the Blight."

"I know her reverence was none too pleased at the reduction in my tithe this season," Neria said.

"It is not my place to say, ser," the lay sister tilted her head, nose wrinkling, "But I do not doubt your wealth goes where it is needed,"

Wealth, Neria thought derisively. She cleared her throat and said, "There is much to rebuild."

"That there is," the woman replied.

"I recall you took a babe from one of my Wardens when the city was under siege," Neria's voice shifted, and the elf looked up to the initiate, "I was curious what has happened to her?"

"As you know, the orphanage has not yet been rebuilt," she said, and a smile blossomed, "So it was the reverend mother's decision that the child be raised in the ways of Chantry. She is very well cared for."

"I see," Neria said, unable to stop her frown.

"Is there a problem, ser?"

Neria inhaled silently as she clasped her hands together behind her back. There was a moment before she impulsively said, "Please tell the reverend mother I wish to speak with her as soon as possible."

* * *

Anders almost dropped the glass, choking and consequently coughing the cider across the table.

"Andraste's knickers!" he squeaked, pulling his sash to wipe the spill, "What in the Maker's name were you thinking? Do you even know how to look after one?"

Neria blushed as she put a hand on the back of the baby's head, "I - I've read a fair bit. And quiet please, she... she cried all the way home."

"Did you steal her from her mother in the street?"

Cheeks reddening darker, Neria said, "No, her mother died when the city was attacked. The Chantry had her."

"Maker's breath," Anders said, hitting his chest to clear out the cider as he walked over, "Does that really seem bright?"

"So I should have left her with the Chantry?" Neria said in a hard whisper.

Lips pressed in a dubious line, Anders regarded the child before his expression lightened, "No, you're right. Of course you are."

"Of course I am," Neria reiterated, her eyes away as she massaged her fingers up the girl's back. She was swaddled tightly and slept, her face smushed on the mage's shoulder. "There haven't been darkspawn for some time now. The new recruits are training well with Nathaniel and Sigrun - and you."

"Yes, yes that's true," Anders grinned smugly, "I am that good."

"And Varel handles many of the matters for the arling," Neria swayed as she felt the child stir. She leant her cheek against the baby's elongated ear, "And I will never have my own, is it so terrible. To want this?"

Anders furrowed his brow and crossed his arms, "You better not expect me to help at all. Nappies and that, yech."

"I almost found myself saying, so can I keep her - like she were some dog," Neria murmured, before some of the stress left her features.

"Well, does she have a name? Have her eyes opened at least? She's been weaned?"

"Anders," Neria rolled her eyes and went to sit in one of the chairs by the fire. He snagged another and pulled it up.

"What a lovely name! Not the best for a girl, though."

"It's Fae, you dolt," she softly laughed, laying the baby in the crook of her arm. She looked down and sighed, leaning back in the chair. Her face went still. "I guess I should take this seriously."

"Maybe, heh?"

"You should have seen the templars when I walked out of the Chantry with her," Neria said with a grin.

"I bet," Anders laughed, "That alone makes her worth it."


	23. Homecoming

Neria giggled as Zevran spun her, and the Antivan nodded appreciatively.

"Bene bene," he said, releasing her hand as Alim approached with Fae in hand. Grinning deviously, Zevran bent his mouth to the young man's ear. His words brought a bright blush before he said to Neria, "I shall not keep you any further, Arlessa."

Smirking as she peered at him, Neria hugged Alim and took the baby, "I'm glad you've been here. And that you stayed for the party."

"Zevran insisted," Alim said with a smile. He tugged at the formal clothes, "Besides, it's better if we wait a few more weeks for weather to improve, right?"

"Sì," Zevran replied, "For your delicate disposition to survive the passage."

Neria shook her hair back to avoid Fae's roving, chubby grasp, "Are you certain you won't stay?"

"It is merely not possible," he said under his breath, before flashing a smile, "Besides, would you deny your brother the possibility of adventure?"

Almost choked with emotion, Neria answered with a smile, her voice wavering, "No. No of course not. How selfish of me."

"We'll stay for feastday," Alim added.

"Of course, of course," Zevran replied with a grin.

After a few more words, the pair drifted off to the edge of the crowd, and Neria looked at the yearling babe, "Are you having fun? Yes? Yes of course you are! So many hands wanting you!"

Fae squealed as Neria tickled her, the laughter bright and high as the elven mage spun before hugging her close. The baby didn't hesitate to tangle her hands in her hair.

"I should have known," Neria whispered to the girl, before she cringed, "Ow, ow, not so hard, sweet pea."

"There is a sight I never imagined to see," said Teagan as he approached, the red-haired woman on his sleeve smiling brightly.

"Teagan, I am so glad you came," Neria said, offering a hand but soon found herself pulled into an embrace. She blushed when he kissed her cheek. "Or should I call you Arl?"

"I have been trying since I met the Commander to convince her to call me Teagan, and Teagan alone," he said to the woman on his arm. Patting the hand in the crook of his arm, "Do you remember Bella?"  
"From the tavern," Neria said with a grin as she hoisted Fae in her arm. "A pleasure to see you well."

"More than well," Bella said, curtseying and smiling to Teagan.

"We are to be wed in the spring," he gushed, meeting his fiancée's smile with his own. "I do hope you will attend? It will be in Denerim, of course."

"Of course, where else would the Arl be married," Neria said with a grin. "Congratulations."

"And who is this?" Bella asked, making a silly face as Neria handed off the baby. "What a princess!"

"Fae," Neria said, clasping her hands over her stomach.

"An elf at that… I had always heard mixed children were human," Teagan said as he offered a finger for the baby. Tugging to play with her, he smiled considerately, "She has his nose."

Neria blushed readily as she said, "Oh, she – she is not ours… She was orphaned when Amaranthine was attacked."

"I apologize," Teagan said, taking the babe for a moment to play with her. They all laughed as Fae pulled at his beard. "I doubt any would know the wiser. Where is Alistair? You are still together, I hope?"

Neria's expression froze for an instant, before she coughed quietly and said, "He has not returned. I have not heard from him … in months."

"And once more you stuff your foot in there, Teagan," Bella said, taking his arm as he handed Fae back.

"I am rather adept at it, it seems," he replied, offering Neria an apologetic smile, "May the Maker return him to us safely and expediently."

"Yes," she said, smiling to conceal the ache, "Thank you for your kind words."

The night wore on as Neria continued to play hostess, often with Varel at her side in a paternal way. Fae had grown accustomed to the seneschal, and the older man was obviously taken by the baby elf. Most of Vigil's Keep had come to know her, spending time caring and entertaining the child as they could.

Neria turned from her conversation regarding donations from the southern Bannorn as Calevar tugged her arm. She smiled as he looked up to her, "Have you been enjoying yourself?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He poked Fae a few times, slowly smiling at the girl. He had moved into the keep in the past weeks, orphaned by the darkspawn, and spent a lot of time with Neria. Shaking his head in distraction, he looked up to Neria, "Johan is at the gate. He says there are horses on the road. He wished me to get you."

One of the soldiers on watch, she thought, before saying, "We'll go see."

Calevar took her hand as they swept through the main hall, passing by the rowdy crowd Anders and Oghren entertained by the ale. Fae found her way into Neria's hair again, and the mage shook it out of reach. Her elegant emerald robes swept the ground, the gold embroidery catching the light from the candelabra overhead. The soldier was waiting by the door, speaking with Nathaniel, who was clad in decorative leathers.

"Commander," Johan went rigid and saluted, "I wasn't sure what to do, but there's two men at the gate. They say they're Grey Wardens, but they's none I've ever seen."

"I see," Neria said, resting her hand on the back of Calevar's head, "Get my cloak?"

The boy nodded and ran off along the wall.

"See to the guests?" Neria said with a taciturn grin, and Nathaniel nodded as the minstrels struck another song.

"Wardens they say?" Zevran came back with Calevar at his side, cloak in hand.

"He got to it before I could," the boy blurted.

"If they are, they will be welcomed with open arms," Neria said, gathering Fae in her arms. Leaning down, she softly said to Calevar, "Why don't you two head up to our room. I'll come see you soon.

The young elf glanced warily at Zevran as Neria threw her cloak on, bunching the fur around her neck. Walking with Johan out the door, the Antivan followed Neria on silent steps, with Alim in the wings. Out of the keep and into the bailey, a waning moon shone down on the men that arranged their tack. Beside them, a trio of guards stood, uneasy with the strangers.

"I expected it to take longer, but I had to walk before."

Neria froze in her tracks by the statue of Andraste, and she put a hand to her throat, fearful the sudden thud of her heart would rise to choke her. Johan strode forward without her, hand upon the hilt of his sword.

"The Commander of the Grey - don't try nothin' funny," he briskly said.

"Neria," Alistair's face twitched as he pulled off his scarf and easily pushed past the soldier, almost tripping as he hurried to her.

"It's you," Neria whispered, suddenly crushed against his weatherworn leather armour, "It's really you."

"Yes," he half-laughed, as he buried his face against her, stubble catching in her long white hair.

Alistair drew her back and roughly kissed her, rousing a deep blush on Neria's cheeks. The soldiers nearby coughed and almost laughed as he tangled his fingers in her hair, deepening the kiss and abrading her lips with his beard.

"Yes," he whispered again, breath visible in the air as he leant his forehead against hers.

Choking on her breath, Neria trembled as she snagged her fingers in Alistair's shaggy hair, and diving back into his lips. They were warm and giving, and his beard tickled her nose, but she pulled into him, squeezing her eyes closed.

"I missed you," she whispered when she let him go, eyes misty as he ran his fingers over her cheek. "Maker, I've missed you so much."

"You know," Brant cleared his throat, "There will be plenty of time for that when you don't have a crowd."

"Right," Alistair laughed, glancing to his friend briefly as he kept a hand on Neria, "This is Brant. Brant – er, the Hero of Ferelden?"

Neria laughed, her cheeks flushed red as she reached for Brant's hand, "That's Commander to the both of you."

"I see, Commander, yes ser," Alistair stoutly said.

Brant brought her hand to his lips, before pulling her closer, "I have heard so much about you."

"Have you now?" Neria asked, raising a brow.

Brant kissed her full on the lips, eyes sparkling as he said, "Yes. A pleasure."

"Hey…" Alistair half-pouted as he peered at Brant, while Neria tugged her hand back, blushing darkly.

"You're just like him," Brant laughed, and they both joined in as Zevran and Alim came closer.

"If you've heard of me, I'm sure you've heard of the infamous Zevran Arainai too," Neria turned as Zevran met Brant's hand with a firm grasp.

"Ah yes," Brant grinned, "I'm sure we'll get on smashingly."

Zevran arched a brow, grinning devilishly, "With how you make Neria blush, I have no doubt indeed."

"When did you get back to Ferelden?" Neria asked as she reached for Alistair's hand.

"Our ship came in this morning," he quickly said, cheeks red from the cold. "We had a heck of a time on the docks. The city looks worse for wear."

Neria's expression clouded as she said, "A great deal has happened."

"Commander," Varel came down the steps from the keep, "I apologize for the intrusion, but you are needed."

"Of course," she said, standing straighter than she had in months. She looked from Zevran and Brant to Alistair, "See you inside shortly... We will get you warmed and fed... and much more."

Alistair grinned and self-consciously laughed as he rubbed a hand up the back of his neck. Unwinding his scarf more, he watched her skirt away with the seneschal. He finally exhaled and dropped his hands, and his shoulders relaxed as he smiled.

"It is good to see you return in one piece, my friend."

Alistair turned, still smiling as Zevran's fist snapped and cracked him square in the face. Crying out in surprise, he stumbled back into Brant's arm, cupping his face as he spat, "Maker's breath! I think you broke my nose!"

Alim's mouth dropped open as he looked from Alistair to Zevran.

Glancing at his hand, Zevran gave it a pained shake as he said, "Are you certain? I was sure you had slipped on the ice, yes?" He chuckled dryly, cradling his hand close, "Quite the sight. Return to your posts."

The guards nearby glanced cautiously between each other.

"Now," Zevran firmly said, and the men scattered.

"What?" Alistair squeaked, cringing and spitting into his hands as blood poured over his lips, "You just punched me in the sodding nose!"

Zevran hardened his gaze at Alistair, flexing his fingers weakly as he said, "I would say you got off easy, mm? I once told you if you ever hurt Neria again, I would not be kind."

Alistair took a rag from Brant, who stood by silently watching the two, "So you decided to break your hand on my face?"

"For your honour, you abandoned her to the fate in Amaranthine. To answer to the First Warden, to maintain some semblance of what – of what, Alistair? Was it worth it? Do you truly know what happened here in your absence?"

"I…"

"Once more you left her for your duty – left others to carry her while she wept for you, as she drowned herself in lyrium, as she fought for her life!" Zevran sucked a breath through his teeth, before issuing a spat of Antivan. He glanced as Alim touched his arm.

Zevran levelled his cold eyes at Alistair, and his shoulders relaxed as he candidly said, "It might be worth telling Neria it was a door."

"We'll go find Anders," Alim said.

Alistair gingerly held the cloth to his face, blood dripping on the cold ground as he looked at the elves.

"Best run along and find our dear Warden to patch that," Zevran chuckled darkly, clapping Alistair on the shoulder with his good hand before he turned back to the keep with Alim. "Tsk, so very clumsy."

"Can you believe that?" Alistair stuffily said, after Zevran was out of earshot.

Brant handed off their horses to the page that had come as he said, "Yeah."

"You're kidding me."

"Come on, Alistair," Brant deflected the bloody rag thrown at him. "Let's just get your mage."

Inside, the nobles and freeholders edged back from the armoured, bedraggled men. Neria was near the massive fire, speaking clearly to those gathered. She lifted her glass to finish the toast, and the men and women followed suit, applauding in reply. The minstrels began to sing once more, and the room flowed into dance, letting the Commander disappear in the crowd. She was soon by Alistair's side, all but glowing.

Neria stopped short when she saw him, "Maker's breath, what happened?"

Alistair glanced at Brant, before he coughed and stuffily said, "You know how much of a klutz I can be. Do I really have to recount it?"  
Eyes sparkling, Neria laughed and reached for his hand, "Honestly, it's any wonder you made it back at all. Did you really go to Weisshaupt or just get lost in the Bannorn? We'll go upstairs - you too."

Brant inclined his head and smirked, "Yes, came from the Anderfels themselves."

"I can't place your accent…"

"Nevarran – though I was originally from Ferelden," he said as they worked to the back of the room, eyes following them. She walked holding Alistair's arm as she looked at his nose. "Smells better than I remember."

"You'd be the first to say that," Neria murmured, pushing through the door into the dark hall. The sound of music and laughter faded away. They walked the short distance to her study, "I'll check if it needs to be set."

"I know," Alistair sighed, and then his eyes lightened despite the pain. "Barely with you five minutes, and you're already patching me back up."

Neria stopped short as she pushed into the room, and turned around to wave her hands, whispering, "Try to keep quiet."

Brant tilted his head as Alistair clutched his face and let himself be led into the room and sat down. Near the glowing fire, an elven boy was slumped in the rocking chair, a bundled babe in his lap. Neria opened a cabinet on the far wall, tugging out a number of cloths. She walked back and folded one over multiple times before handing it to him.

"You know the drill," she whispered.

Alistair closed his eyes and sighed, before leaning into the cloth and heavily blowing his nose. He shuddered and softly swore as Neria put a hand on his forehead and pushed his head back. She touched along the bridge and he cringed.

"Really Alistair, this couldn't have waited till tomorrow?" Neria softly said, whispering a spell to chill her hands. They misted and Alistair sighed as she put them on either side of his nose. "So eager to have me covered in blood."

"Just what I love," he muffled under her hands, closing his eyes.

"Exhale," Neria said, and as he breathed out heavily, she ran her steadied hands down the bridge of his nose. Summoning her spellwisp, she looked at him from either side, "I think that will do..."

"Cute kids," Brant said, sitting his hip on Neria's desk.

Neria blushed, and her hands wavered before she healed the break, "H-how does that feel?"

"Much better," Alistair sighed, before turning his eyes up to her. "Thank you, my love."

Neria's eyes glistened as she brushed the hair from his eyes and whispered, "Your hair is too long."

"No one around to cut it," he replied as she wiped away most of the blood and cleaned her hands.

"You know," Brant said as he backpedalled towards the door, "I think I could use a drink."

Neria stood up and hurried to him, throwing her arms around him, "I don't know you or how you did it, but thank you for bringing him home."

Brant cleared his throat and gave her an earnest hug, quietly murmuring, "Hasn't talked about much else than you. Figured I should see this so-called hero myself."

"I see," Neria softly laughed, "Well find Zevran... he and my brother will keep you well watered."

"Will do, Commander," Brant's eyes sparkled as he glanced past her to where Alistair stood, before slipping out the door.

"He's a good man," Alistair said a little loudly, and Neria's eyes darted to the sleeping children. He cringed and came closer, replying in a whisper, "Sorry."

Neria shook her head as the emotion choked throat, unable to speak as she smeared the blood off his lips and kissed him. The fire cracked as Alistair's hand crept up her waist, and darting tongues met and teased before he sighed.

"Shouldn't wake them, right? Some noble will come down on us for it."

"Some noble like me," Neria whispered, sucking her lips in as she pulled back, rapidly blinking the tears from her eyes.

"What?"

"Be-being Arlessa, and all," she hurriedly said, "Varel will have my hide for leaving the party..."

"Ah," Alistair said, looking down the curve of her neck as he traced into her hair with his fingers.

"But it will be worth it," Neria sighed, opening the door behind her and pulling him into the hall. Closing it with a soft click, she said, "I don't want to think about any of that right now."

Up the dark stairs, she led him to her bedroom, and the fireplace and lamps flared to life at her command. Neria turned back, and reached for his face, tracing over the scars there.

"There's so much to tell you," she whispered as he cringed away from the touch.

"Not now," he gruffly said, and Neria pulled him down into her lips. Exhaling sharply, he pawed her neck, fingers tangling in her hair and pinning her against him. "You smell so right."

"So do you," she whimpered, closing her eyes as he pressed his face in her neck, crushed in his arms.

"Dirt, sweat, and blood?"

"Dirty and sweaty," she choked on a laugh, the tears suddenly spilling down her cheeks. His hair and skin were gritty. The months were flooding back. The last kiss in the Denerim compound, the smell of fire, and waking from dreams of the Blight to see his face. "Alistair."

"They won't bother us again," he weakly said, eyes reddening as he smeared his own tears on her neck. He kissed her again, and each one lengthened, deepened, and was a bit more frantic as his hands pressed down her bodice-sculpted sides.

Blushing darkly, Neria closed her eyes, her head falling back as Alistair kissed down her throat. Her robes were ruined, she knew it. The delicate bolt of silk - a gift from the Empress at that. There would be other robes. Her sigh became a small gasp as he tugged the bodice, and she heard the seam pop.

"I - sorry," he said in a breath, and when he let go, the ruined garment fell down her hips.

"Just get it off," Neria kissed his stubbly chin, eyes half-lidded as she went flat-footed and kissed the hollow of his jaw. In a moment, she found the straps of his armour, hands moving into routine as Alistair pushed her robe open over her shoulders.

Shedding the pieces of leather, Alistair lifted his arms to let her pull off the aketon, sweeping down to press chest to chest, skin to skin. Breathing heavily, he kissed her, closing his eyes to relish the soft warmth of her skin. Gripping hair at the base of her neck, he tugged her head back and nipped her neck, drawing little gasps that made his loins throb all the more.

Neria closed her eyes, flushing darker as she wriggled up into his lips. His wide hand clasped her backside and lifted just enough, carrying her back the few steps to the bed. Alistair's mouth fell down over her pert breasts as he pulled her robes open further, his tongue tracing the darkened scars on her body. He knocked her hand away as she reached for his breeches, undoing the belt himself before kicking them off.

"There's so many more," he whispered, drifting further down to kiss each one, opening her thighs to follow the scars. Neria's reply clipped away as he kissed the hollows of her pelvis, dipping into each with his tongue. "Mph. Better be careful with this nose."

"Come here," she breathed a smile, hand trailing his chest as they kissed again, and their bodies pressed together. His arms made a tent around her face as she slid her thigh by his hip, and he shuddered as she touched him, an incoherent sigh escaping. His lips slipped through her hair, the scents of soap and lyrium driving his hips as she guided him.

Alistair huffed out a breath, his absent lips dragging over Neria's cheek and ear as she whimpered and plied her fingers up his back. He moved into a succession of hard strokes, urged by the little sounds she made, pleading breaths thrilling in his gut.

Dragging her calf over his hip, Neria finally panted, "Please."  
The blankets bunched under Alistair's hand as he groaned in reply, smothering her lips and thrusting more earnestly, answering her summons, urged by the fire that overrode all thought. Neria's thighs gripped him, small, lithe limbs writhing as they kissed, half-gasps snagging between their tongues.

Calloused fingers gripped as Neria bit into Alistair's neck, and the templar replied with a jerk of his hips. Her murmurs of assent spurred him further, each sigh and groan seeming to cascade and elicit a tensile and desperate hunger from the other. Neria arched into him, lips fallen wide as she gasped for breath, and Alistair bent to mouth her breast. The leverage let her roll her hips into him, and her hair mussed over her features as her head lolled back heavily into the downy coverlet.

"Please, yes, yes -" she gasped, clipping a breath as he bit her breast, and Neria clutched the tangles at the base of his neck, breath erratic as she was swept away.

Alistair traced his nose up Neria's neck, backside tensing as he listened to the shift in her breath and the devolution of her soft cry. His own breathing shuddered as he jerked and gripped her body, awash in the sudden release. The edges of the world fuzzed away as he leant heavily onto her, panting beside her ear, face down in the blankets.

Neria's legs slipped away as he shifted, and she rolled her head towards him, her cheeks flushed as she breathed heavily through her nose. They stared at each other, eyes and hands slowly roaming, fatigued and spent.

"You'll stay?" she whispered, looking to him as the fire cracked.

Alistair nodded, watching his fingers on her skin. Her closeness and the release of tension inside let his emotions surface, raw and jagged. "I'm not going anywhere anymore."

Rolling onto her side, Neria tangled her arms around him, closing her eyes as his scruffy beard reddened her skin. He shifted to fit his body against her small frame, sighing deeply as she hooked a leg around him. They lay for a time in the quiet, and when she made to move, his hand tightened on her thigh.

There was a haunted shadow in his eyes as Alistair whispered, "Please... please leave the fire burning?"

"Of course," Neria whispered. Wrapping her arms around his head, she held him close, feeling his lips on her breast as his fingers plied her with need, "Anything you want."

"Just you," he choked, kneading her skin and breathing her in.


	24. Satinalia

A few hard knocks preceded the click of the doorknob, and Fae's cries magnified. The hazy light of pre-dawn squeaked through the curtains.

"Madre, I would not intrude but -" Calevar's words cut off as he turned around, seeing Neria scrambled to cover herself. "Ma'am, I - I'm sorry! But no one can calm her, she wants you."

Blushing darkly, Neria stumbled off the bed and pulled a cotton gown off her dressing screen, dragging it on as she cleared her throat and said, "It's alright dear. I shouldn't have slept in."

"Maker's breath," Alistair groaned, throwing his arm over his face as the baby cried.

"Is - is he -" Calevar quietly asked.

"Yes," Neria said, taking Fae from him and pulling the girl close. She drew a deep breath, rubbing up her back as the screams muted to half-choked whimpers. Hugging Calevar close, she kissed the top of his head and said, "Thank you for taking care of her."

The boy blushed and nodded, glancing towards the bed.

"Go down to the kitchens if you haven't yet."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, touching Fae again before he scurried out the door.

Neria began to sing a soft tune, swaying as Fae turned her head and left a damp trail on her shoulder. The mage stopped when she saw Alistair staring at her.

"I've never heard you sing," he groggily said, eyes to the babe in her arms. "Let alone in Antivan."

"It... Zevran taught it to me," she said almost defensively, before forcing herself a few steps closer. Hadn't she played this over in her mind so many times? What to say? What to tell him? Her mouth felt dry as she blushed.

Tugging the blanket higher around his waist, Alistair sat up, dangling his feet off the bed as he asked, "... is Zevran the father then?"

"What? No – no, nothing like that, Alistair," Neria said in a rush, folding her arms around Fae.

"Why didn't you say anything last night? Who is then?"

Inhaling deeply, Neria looked across the room, her heart thudding hard before she sat behind him, "You are, I hope."

"Me?" he squeaked, turning towards her, "I didn't even - I mean, she... she's an elf. I thought that..."

Neria blushed as she shifted her leg on he bed, laying Fae into the crook of her knee. "No, it isn't ours. I mean... I want her to be ours, but she isn't ours."

Alistair exhaled heavily, watching Neria before looking down at the baby, his lips in a dubious line. Fae tugged at the beads on Neria's dressing gown, trying to pull them towards her mouth.

"It is a ... lot to come home to," Alistair quietly said, even as his expression softened. He took Fae's hand, smoothing her small fingers over his thumb.

"I couldn't leave her at the Chantry," Neria said, furrowing her brow. "After everything you've said, I couldn't let them raise her. The orphanage was destroyed and..."

"No, no, of course it's alright," Alistair said, his voice cracking as Fae squeezed his thumb and rolled over, discarding it to crawl on the bed. Both he and Neria reached to stop her from going over the edge. "You really... want me to be her father?"

Neria nodded, picking Fae up and holding her around the belly. Running her fingers through the girl's dark hair, she said, "I know you'd make a good one."

Alistair took Neria's hand, kissing the fingers before leaning to rest his forehead against hers. Fae struggled again, even as Neria held her closer, and the mage's breath shuddered as she started to cry.

"I need her, Alistair," she whispered, "You don't know what it's been like here without you. Everything went wrong. And I'll never have my own. Do you know what Bann - what Teagan said last night? That she has your nose. And then here you are, coming back into my life -"

Alistair kissed her and smoothed a thumb through her tears, "Don't cry, love, it..."

"I love you." Neria looked up to him before they both looked at Fae again, eyes beckoned down as she tugged the neck of the mage's gown, "I love her."

"It means the world to me that you want her to be our child," Alistair clumsily said, "I wish I could have been here."

Wrapping her arms around Fae, Neria lay back on the bed, exhaling out her pent breath. Alistair watched before joining them, and he ran his hands over each in turn. Fae turned and tugged at his necklace, causing him to choke a bit. When Neria stifled a laugh, the baby smiled.

"Thank you," he squeaked, as Neria eased the pendant out of the babe's iron grip. "Pleasure to meet you too."

"Fae," Neria offered.

"Fae," Alistair said, shaking his hand as he encouraged the baby to grip his finger. "I'm... dad."

* * *

There had already been gifts, singing, and food in the main hall, the Satinalia feastday welcomed with good providence and cheer. The work to restore the keep and city had abated, and the front hall was packed. Though many still dealt with the loss of their loved ones, the darkspawn had been chased from the arling – and support from the country flowed easily to aide Ferelden's favoured hero.

At Ander's insistence, Neria had finally caved to the game he wished to play – and their antics drew a crowd as magical prowess was traded back and forth, producing ever more glamorous and showy displays of their finely controlled art. A small whorl of snowflake birds buffeted over a nymph of fire, only to have their white, crystalline structure pop into tufts of steam and flame. The dance of light and colour only came to an end when one of the chantry initiates stormed out in a huff.

The Wardens retired last from the fires and frivolity to the quiet comfort of their common room, the walls heavy with tapestries to keep out the chill of winter. Brant lounged with Sigrun, Alim and Zevran, trading stories and drinking the imported spiced brandy the Antivan had tracked down. Sitting on the floor by the fire, Alistair eagerly joining Calevar to play with the set of silver-painted soldiers he had been given.

"I always wanted something like this," Alistair said, and when Calevar looked at him oddly, he added with a cough, "When I was young."

"Varel got me a sword, did you see?"

Alsitair grinned as the boy swung the sheath around and pulled out the blunted blade, leaning back with one of the soldier's in hand as he said, "That I did, you'll protect us all now."

"Especially Madre."

"Yes," his smile softened, "Most of all."

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes at Anders as he opened the parchment, "Trousers."

"I heard you could use a good pair," Anders said with a grin, lifting his glass and drinking the goblet of wine as the rest of the Wardens laughed.

"Better be careful with those things," Oghren murmured over his ale, before he was distracted by Felsi and reached for her thigh. What he said went unheard but for her, and the woman laughed hard.

Neria shook her head, slouched in one of the deep chairs beside Varel, who had finally taken up her insistence that he relax for a change. None the less, his eyes followed Fae as she crawled about the rug, quick to keep her from straying into the cold shadows.

"Quite the show earlier, milady," Varel said as he put a pillow in Fae's way.

"That was how they celebrated in the Tower," Neria said, sipping her goblet before she added, "When the templars weren't watching. I would have never had anything to do with it."

"We were glad enough when you kept your lips shut," Anders murmured, leaning on the back of her chair.

Neria blushed and shook her head, "You were terrible, Anders."

"Were? I'm losing my touch," he sighed a little, and with an exaggerated movement he nodded to one of the tables. Neria slipped out of her chair as Oghren launched into a tale of his prowess and the Blight, heavily annotated by Alistair's sarcasm. The pair of recruits looked up from where they lay, far-gone from sober. She glanced back at the laughter, before leaning onto the table by Anders.

"I have a little something for us mages."

Twiddling the pendant around her neck, Neria narrowed her eyes and said, "Oh? Is that so?"

"Something of my own devising, I might add," he said and uncorked a flask to fill their glasses.

"Why don't I believe that?"

"Ever wounding me!" Anders put a hand to his heart before sliding the goblet to her. "Fine, I found it in the margins of some book when I was in solitary."

"They gave you books?"

"Yes," he replied indignantly, lifting the cup, "About the only thing they did, why do you think I am so well learned?"

"Mhm," Drawing the glass to her lips, Neria hesitated, "Is that..."

Anders waggled his brow before drinking a big gulp, "Part of it."

She would know the scent anywhere. She had been trying so hard to avoid it since she had brought Fae to the castle - since Alistair had come back. It was rain and lightning, rime frost and old parchment, a whisper from some darkness. It made her veins itch just to smell it.

Neria sighed a little as she drank the mix, the evaporative hush of alcohol mingling with the lyrium as it slithered in. She held it on her tongue, the familiar numbness soaking in.

"It's not much, so don't worry," Anders reassured, grinning at her. "Consider it my present."

The flutter rose through her chest, senses sighing into the sinful embrace as Neria softly said, "Thank you." She gave him a kiss on the cheek, "I should have gotten you something better."

Anders smirked as he drank a bit more, "Well, you could always set me free."

"You aren't trapped here, you know," Neria lightly laughed, before downing the rest of the drink. She quietly sighed at the sensation it brought, topping off her already tipsy state. "Thank you."

"And g'night," he said, leaving the glass as he trundled towards the door.

"Take Calevar to his bed?"

Anders steadied himself on the wall, before bowing his head, "You really think I can muster it?"

"But of course, big strong mage like you," Neria arched her brow.

Rolling his eyes, Anders tiptoed amidst the bodies to swoop up the boy, fallen asleep amidst his toys. Walking by Neria, he murmured, "You so owe me."

Resting her face in her hands, Neria watched her Wardens for a time, listening as Alistair and Oghren exchanged back and forth, vividly recalling the battle at Redcliffe. It was before they had turned to Denerim – before they had found the archdemon. Ser Pounce-a-Lot leapt up onto the table, eagerly nuzzling her offered hand.

"Really, you expect me to believe that?" Brant interjected, glancing at Sigrun beside him. "Says the man who walked us into a pit. We nearly died down there."

"Me?" Alistair huffed, "Yes, because I was leading us through the jungle. That was your first mistake."

"Thank the blessed Andraste our dear Warden-Commander knew better, mm?" Zevran said with a grin, rousing light laughter.

"What he won't tell you, is that we were saved by the Orlesians," Brant added, bringing his glass back to his lips.

"That sort of talk is tantamount to treason in Ferelden, Brant," Neria said from where she leant on the table, "Best remember that, now you've come home."

"A thousand pardons, milady," Brant half-bowed from where he reclined, grinning.

"Oh don't ask my forgiveness, I think Anthony still has another few minutes as our esteemed leader? Or have I lost the time?"

The recruit righted his twisted shirt as he made a sound, cheeks glowing from the drink, "Tha's right. I ought to have you strung up for such a remark. Disgraceful."

Brant fell prostrate and grabbed the man's boot, tugging it to his lips for a kiss, much to the amusement of the other Wardens, "If I might make it up to you, ser."

"Eyh, get off," Anthony laughed and pushed the man away with the toe of his boot. More laughter joined him as Brant fell back.

"Well this simple elf must say good night," Neria said, putting a hand out to stop Varel as she laughed, "Don't let me keep the rest of you from continuing on all the night."

"Could you if you tried?" Zevran asked, eyes sparkling.

"Mm if I tried…" Neria cast a sideways glance as she turned away. The warmth of the fire bled away, and she scurried into the hall. It was scarce a moment before Alistair slipped out after her, blushed red at the jeers that followed.

"Thought you could escape me, huh?"

Neria reached for his hand, swaying back towards the steps as she said, "Oh good ser, I was hardly escaping but tempting you after me."

"Vile apostate, you are," he whispered, leaning in to kiss her. He stiffened and pulled back, tightening his arm around you. "Neria…"

"It was just a drink," she said defensively, turning her cheek away and trying to squirm from his grasp. "A diluted drink. Mage's fun."

"You can't do that," he whispered with slight strain.

"Well you didn't stop me," she murmured, twisting in his grasp, only to have them both stumble.

"I don't like how he influences you," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist to easily pick her up. He kissed her again, feeling the lingering tingle from the lyrium as their tongues met. Swaying again, he leaned a shoulder against the wall to take the steps slowly, linking his hand under her backside to hold her up.

Neria made a little sound, holding his neck to keep from falling, "Anders? You've never liked any of the other mages I associate with."

"I like Wynne," he said as he made it to the top and threw her more fully over his shoulder.

"She was old enough to be your mother. Antiquated. Stuffy. That would have been me, y'know. Stuck in the Tower. Slapping apprentice wrists and droning on, and on, and on," Breath puffing from her, Neria rocked as Alistair walked. It was another moment before she whimpered, "You'll make me sick like this…"

"I doubt that," he murmured, pausing as he looked down the dimly lit hall.

"I left Fae, I can't go without my baby…" she whimpered, falling back down as Alistair pushed open a door.

"Varel already said he'd look after her," he replied, depositing her on the bed before creeping atop her. "A lovely present, don't you think?"

"Mmm," Neria replied, sighing at the comfort of the bed. She looked at him half-lidded, "One he often grants me."

"Then you need another," Alistair replied, kissing her lengthily before resting his forehead to hers. Neria ran her arms up his shirt, and he twitched a little as her fingers chilled.

"Oh I missed that," she whispered, leaning up into his neck as a tingle of magic roused from the soft word on her lips.

"Neria," Alistair said, shuddering slightly as another arc of the electric chill sparked on his skin. When her hand dipped lower, he caught her wrist, "Plea… Please don't. I can't do that."

Neria dropped her arms against the bed, wrist still in his grasp as she looked up to him. Flushing darker, Alistair looked away and rolled beside her on the bed, exhaling out. "You always liked that…"

"I know," he whispered, closing his eyes as he let go and wrapped her hand in his instead. "I-I just…"

Sitting up, Neria's hair swept off her shoulders, and she looked at him with concern. He wouldn't meet her eyes, so she contented herself with touching his hand, stroking her fingers over the taut ligaments before bringing his fingers to her lips. She laid her head back down as the room spun a little.

"You know I'm here for you, love," she whispered, lying on her side to watch him.

"I know," he replied, eyes still closed.

Neria hid her frown and rolled onto her back, taking his hand with her. She moved her knee so their thighs would touch, and it brought a sigh from him.

"Would you promise me something?"

"Anything," she said, head lolling to look at him, "Always anything."

Alistair squeezed her hand as he sat up, shivering in the chill dark of the room as he looked away and said, "Will you swear to never learn any sort of blood magic? None of it… I just…"

"How can you even ask that," she whispered, trying to sit up as he pulled his hand away. It was like she had been hit in the chest. "I never would, Alistair. You know that."

"I know," he whispered, making himself smaller.

"You know," she repeated, drawing a shuddering breath. Standing up, the world tilted, but she found the will and brought the fire roaring to life in the hearth. She ran her hands over her face, catching in her hair as she paced to snatch up a warm robe. Turning back, he wouldn't meet her gaze, "Why won't you talk about what happened at Weisshaupt?"

"Not yet," he croaked, wringing his hands together as he sat forward.

Neria closed her eyes and huffed out a breath, the taste of lyrium suddenly there once more. It brought with it a salacious knot to dance alongside the one of emotional restraint. It would make it better, she knew. It would give her the clarity she needed.

"Please," he whispered, hands over his mouth and cheeks before he asked, "Promise me?"

A tremor in her hand, Neria crossed her arms and dropped her chin. She exhaled sharply out her nose before quietly saying, "I promise, my love."

"Thank you," he choked, chancing to look at her with sobering eyes.

"I have -" Emotion choked her throat as Neria tied her robe, turning for the door, "I have to go check on the children."

* * *

Neria stood up as she saw Alistair walk into the kitchen, snagging her teacup as she said to Brant, "Thank you for breakfast."

"Anytime," Brant raised his mug and brow as he watched her go, seeing Alistair's eyes drag after her. The expression cleared and he smelled the mint tea. A brew the Warden-Commander made – and something he was coming to love. "So. How's the head?"

Alistair reached for one of the buns on the table, breaking it as he kept his eyes down, "Just peachy."

They were the only ones that braved waking. A snowstorm overnight had trapped most of the castle, and after a long day and night of revelry, most had stayed in bed.

Licking his lips, Brant casually drank his tea before stating, "What did you do."

Alistair blushed as he moved to the fire and poured some tea from the pot, murmuring, "You know me, I don't get up to much."

"Such a funny arse," Brant said as his friend sat down again.

Alistair bridged his hands over his brow, steaming himself over the tea as he sighed, "Just being myself, you know."

"Things seemed to be going well. You've been happier than I've ever seen. And the rest of the castle," Brant drew a breath, "They seemed to have heaved a collective sigh at their Commander's mood change."

"I am happy," Alistair said, dropping his hands and tearing another bun. He took the plate of sausage Brant pushed his way. "I just… I can't forget what happened."

The window at the other end of the kitchen was frosted, the landscape beyond obscured by the brightness of light that spilled in. Brant's eyes drifted to the ice that crept along the stone.

"I think that's expecting too much," he finally said.

"I spent a year running after darkspawn, fleeing for my life, nearly dying most of the time," Alistair quietly said, a strain creeping in his voice. "Don't get me wrong, I think my head does me the favour of blurring a lot of it out. But… I don't ever remember it making me feel this way."

"You were together," Brant replied, looking into his mug. "So many times you've talked about some terrible thing, only to end up smiling about her… Does she know?"

"I…" Alistair struggled, "I can barely even think about it. How can… I can't."

Brant snagged one of the stray sausages, "It's not fair to shut her out."

"I know," Alistair sighed, "Maker, I know." He paled and covered his face.

"There are a lot of people in this castle who love her," Brant said, biting off half the piece of meat, continuing with a full mouth, "Don't be blind to that."

"That doesn't make it any easier."

"Then make it easier," Brant flatly said, raising a hand and offering a smile as Sigrun trudged into the kitchen. "Zevran hit you for a reason. You need find out what she's been through while you've been gone. From someone who won't soften it like she will."


	25. A Promise

"Thank you as always for your generosity," Zevran said as the pouch disappeared, and he bowed his head. Alim stepped back from hugging his sister.

"Just come here," she said, forcing a smile. Zevran stiffened a little as she laced her arms around him. Pressed close, she whispered, "You will be deeply missed."

"That is kind of you to say," Zevran replied, and when he tried to pull away, Neria's arms tightened.

"Don't be like that," she whispered, keeping an arm around his neck as she wiped a tear. "Not now. You know I love you, Zev."

"I..." Zevran fell silent, their words hushed between them as the rest of the Wardens lingered back. He could see Alistair's ears burning. " _Ci sarà_ _sempre un posto per ten el mio cuore."_

"Not fair," she softly said, trying not to smile as Zevran's expression warmed.

"That is life, mmm?"

Neria kissed him suddenly on the lips, before she closed her eyes and quieted her mouth on his shoulder. Zevran drew a deep breath and embraced her, closing his eyes as he felt her tremble.

"He will not leave you again," he rubbed her back and whispered by her ear, "You are a family now."

"I am so sorry, Zev," she shuddered and squeezed him tight. Zevran kissed her cheek, pulling back to pick up her chin.

"Enough tears," he chided with a grin. " _Non perderti in così poco_ \- do not make so much of this, _tesaro_. With luck, we will see each other again. And I am renowned for my good fortune."

"Take care of yourself," she softly said, before her voice gained strength, "And you better take care of my brother."

"Indeed I shall, mm?" Zevran helped Alim onto his horses, before taking Neria's hand again. He kissed her cheek and said, "Be well, my dear Warden."

Neria stood and watched the horses leave, the false smile draining from her face. The other Wardens trickled away to their daily activities while she remained long after Zevran and Alim had disappeared from sight. The snows pulled across the courtyard and tugged at her coat.

"Love?" Alistair finally said, approaching from the steps.

Neria still looked at the road. It was only when he nudged her that she moved. "I'm never going to see him again."

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do," she whispered, crossing her arms over her stomach. She swept back towards the keep, and Alistair followed on her heels. Inside, she hurried to snag a few scrolls from Varel and disappear down the hall into her study.

Alistair sighed, left in the front hall. Shifting his weight, he glanced at Captain Garevel and Mistress Woolsey, offering a quick smile. In the few weeks leading up to Satinalia, he had gotten to know them all. And up until that night, they had settled into an amicable routine. Mornings spent with the recruits and Vigil's soldiers training, and afternoons addressing matters of the arling.

Running a hand up the back of her neck, Alistair's cheeks reddened at the thought. He had been aloof, he knew it. Tracking each of the Wardens in the evening to ask about Neria. To learn of what had happened the months he was gone – more than half a year.

Alistair spent the rest of the afternoon moping from place to place, with Neria locked in her study and Fae napping. By her crib was where he ended up, looking on the girl as she slept. She had gotten used to him – and actually, he was better at feeding her than anyone. She loved to make a mess, usually all over him. But he didn't mind. It made Neria laugh.

What was he doing out here?

"Ser?"

Alistair turned as Varel cleared his throat, "Oh – Varel. You – you know you don't have to call me ser."

"Habits," the seneschal replied with a quick nod. "I thought if anyone should, you might check in on the Warden-Commander."

"I have been planning to," Alistair said, and shrugging his shoulders back, added, "I figured she might want some time. I know how close they were."

"Better than anyone," Varel said.

Alistair nodded, brushing the dark hair over Fae's forehead before he said, "I'll go."

He had wanted to talk to her so badly. How did Zevran's departure come up so fast? How do you even broach something like that? He sighed at the thought and finally went after her. Stopping at the door, he almost knocked, before resting his forehead on the wood.

"Neria?"

There wasn't an immediate reply. "What is it?"

Alistair put his hand on the knob, "Can I come in?"

"Not now," came her strained voice.

Looking up, Alistair drew a deep breath. He looked down the hall before saying, "Please let me in? You need me. I want to be there."

There were muffled sounds through the door, before the lock turned and the door opened a crack. Neria walked away from him with a hand over her mouth, her eyes closed. She returned to the wide chair by the hearth and sank into it, crossing her arms.

"So you'll be here now?"

Alistair cringed, shutting the door as he said, "Of course. I always wanted to be here – to be with you."

Neria looked at the fire, her eyes reddened. The sun was low, and the entire room glowed gold and blue, deceptive of the cold air beyond the window. Idly she rubbed her lips, a distant look in her eyes.

"He was here," she whispered, closing her trembling hand in a fist. Her eyes darted, hoping he could not see.

"I've been trying to find out what I missed," Alistair said, looking down as his voice cracked, "I know what you've been going through. I should have been more sensitive to it. I'm here now, that counts for something, doesn't it?"

"You have no idea what happened," Neria whispered, teary eyes turning to him.

"I know you killed one of the guards from Fort Drakon," he said, voice bare. "I know about Mhairi ... and Matthew, and the sick guards and townspeople."

Her coat fell open as she stood, and Neria said, "Those are such tiny pieces. You have no idea." Hovering closer, she shook a hand at him. "Because you weren't here. If you were, I would have told you everything! What, you went and spoke to my recruits?"

Alistair furrowed his brow, stepping closer as she continued.

"Did they tell you of the months I was kept awake by the very thing we were hunting? He talked to me in my dreams, Alistair – he was there, invading my mind! Tempting me to find some truce or understanding. And I killed him. Maker damned darkspawn, I killed it."

It was all there with frightening clarity, and Neria's breath trembled as she stepped out of his reach, eyes bright in the dim room, "But no – no you don't know. You don't know what it was like going into the darkness of the Deep Roads again. In that place without you."

Neria's hand fluttered over her mouth as she began to cry, "And the lyrium. Maker, there was so much lyrium, Alistair – you don't know what it is like. It sings in your veins and mind, and I can hear it talking to me – and it is Him. It is the Maker whispering to me." Her voice weakened with her tears, "Why do you think I want it so badly? To touch something so divine…"

"Neria, I –" Alistair croaked, on edge as he felt the tensions of her magic in the air.

"All the fighting, the battles, and more blood spilling on my hands…" Hitting his chest as she started to sob, Neria said, "But you weren't here! I couldn't be there with you in the night when I woke from his calm, calculated voice. That darkspawn trying to convince me we were one and the same! Whispering that we were one and the same, and it was only together we could stop more death…"

Neria pushed him again, but Alistair held on as she hung her head between them, choking on her tears, "And now the only one who was here – the friend better than I ever deserved – is gone. He's gone Alistair. When will I find that again – find in you that I don't need to be strong. Being with you made me strong, but there was nothing…"

"Neria, you've been strong - the strongest person I've ever known since the day I met you," he whispered, gathering her up and speaking into her hair.

"You would pick up my head and tell me it was alright. Make me laugh. Taking my hand, waking my lips and heart," she cried, "But nothing…"

Tightening his hands in her robes, Alistair's voice shuddered as he whispered, "I am so sorry, my love. I promise I'll never leave you again. I don't care about duty or anything anymore. I just love you. I'm tired of trying to be someone that other people want me to be. I want to be someone you want me to be."

Neria's body shook as she sobbed, winding her hands into Alistair's shirt. Brushing her hair back, he dipped and kissed her neck, pulling her with him towards the chair. Sitting down, she followed in his arms, crawling into his lap and burying her face in his neck.

"Things are getting better," he whispered, resting his cheek against her hair. "Even if you're stuck with smelly old me instead of some sexy assassin. Sorry about that."

Neria's breath hitched as she laughed emptily, her weight sinking into him. She stayed in his arms, trembling breath subdued. Wiping her nose on the sleeve of her robe, she touched the pendant around his neck. The one that still matched the small glass vial dangled around hers.

"I didn't really have a picnic while I was gone. Never even got to meet the First Warden," Alistair said, wrapping his hand around hers. His eyes stayed down on them as he said, "I was tortured by blood mages. They'd taken the Commander in the Anderfels as a thrall. They didn't care - they didn't care what I thought or felt, but they found everything out.

"And I would lay in the dark just thinking about you. Thinking about coming home to you."

Neria tried to pull her hand away as she stammered stuffily, "I-I didn't know, I'm so sorry Alistair."

"No - no, you couldn't know. You were my light," he impressed, pressing his nose into her cheek and keeping her close. His hackles tensed at the scent on her lips. "And I know I've been pulling away from you because... I'm so frightened of everything they dug out of my mind. I couldn't stop them, Neria. They had utter control over me, and it was like none of my training ever mattered.

"That's why I asked you to promise. Not because I don't trust you, but because I just... I..." Alistair's breath shuddered as he put his face down on her shoulder.

Neria turned into him, wrapping her arms around his head, "It's alright, Alistair. I swear I would never do anything like that, even if I didn't love you. I... I couldn't. Not seeing all it has done."

Alistair exhaled roughly, his arms along her back as he breathed her in, trembling as her fingers played down the back of his neck. She kissed his hair before turning her reddened cheek to sit atop his head.

"I'm so sorry. I promise - I swear."

"Don't be sorry," he whispered, shaking his head free to put his lips on her cheek. "There's nothing to be sorry about."

"I want to stop feeling so terrible," she softly cried, her fingers back-combing through his hair as she tried to reign herself in.

"You will - we will," he whispered, finding some peace in her arms. "We just need time. And we'll have it. I promise."

* * *

Neria leaned over the tome, propping up her head to read by the lamplight. She finally had time to look over the grimoire Alistair had brought back from Weisshaupt - from the elven mage he met there. It was not a common cipher, but he had also supplied a scroll that enabled her to find it. Its decoding was a slow process, but it reminded her of the joy she found in discovery - in the nicks her fingers got from books, how her eyes hurt reading by candlelight, and the way old knowledge smelled.

And what a discovery it was.

Her quill hesitated over the pot of lyrium-imbued ink, before Neria dipped and transcribed into her own text. The mage - Fiona – researched magical interactions with the Grey Warden afflictions. Beyond that, she had spent some years tracking what sounded like the darkspawn from her dreams - the Architect. The writing seemed to skip in time, and she suspected that pages had been followed in a particular order. She may have to transcribe the entire book before fully understanding the implications of what might be possible. But if she were able to make use of it...

Neria lifted her head as Alistair sat on the edge of her desk. Softly smiling, she put down her quill and swept her long white hair back over her shoulder.

"You've been in here some time," he said.

"Did you run them ragged?"

Alistair softly laughed, smirking as he said, "Oh, I don't know. Seemed like I was going easy on them."

"Of course," Neria rolled her eyes, "Of course a templar would have undergone much more rigorous trials."

"With less food too. I turned them loose in the kitchen," Alistair stood up and glanced into the crib beside her desk, "Did you drug her?"

"No," Neria laughed, and when Alistair peered at her she added, "Not even a sleep spell. Though I don't know how a normal mother would ever get by without one."

"Are you sure that's right?"

"You are free to get up in the night when she cries."

"I get the point," Alistair said, reaching to tug the quill from her hand. "Have some time for me?"

"I planned to prep the elixir for the Joining tomorrow," Neria quietly said, her eyes darkening with shadow. "I think they're ready."

"Mm, and that was your only plan?"

Neria tilted her head and looked up to him, "It will take me all night."

"Not with Anders doing it," Alistair grinned and reached for her hand, pulling her out of her chair. "So you're stuck with me."

Allowing herself to be led, Neria cautiously watched Alistair as they wove down the hall.

Grinning despite himself, he stopped and said, "Don't look at me like that - and close your eyes."

"I almost have a bad feeling about this," Neria murmured before complying. She walked with care, mildly surprised when she didn't hit anything. She could tell the light was changing, and the air grew chilled.

"Where are we going?" Neria asked in a whisper, following as best she could.

"You'll see, I promise," Alistair grinned, giving her hand a squeeze, "Keep your eyes closed."

"No walking me into a wall," she murmured. Her free hand instinctively went to her chest as a sudden wind hit and threatened to steal her breath. Her pale hair pulled over her cheeks, and she squeezed her eyes tighter. Feeling the sudden press of his lips, Neria sighed, exhaling through her nose as she leant into him. His warm hand cupped her cheek, and their lips parted, tasting, teasing to offer something more. She smiled as he drew back.

"Neria, I love you… I've loved you no matter what has happened. I gave you something on our first Satinalia together - even if the world was falling apart - and I thank the Maker I was here with you for another. Even if I messed it up – no, I know it's getting better. I just... wanted to do this then," Alistair's voice softly cracked, and his fingers trailed over her cheek as he leant his forehead against hers. "Marry me?  
Her breath catching, Neria opened her eyes as her heart stopped.

"You weren't supposed to open your eyes yet," Alistair grinned goofily as he knelt down. The stars shone brightly around them, the night clear and crisp as they stood on the ramparts of the keep. "Can Grey Wardens do this? Get married?"

"Maybe," Neria said, feeling her heart thud again. Her cheeks warmed red as Alistair's smile grew, "But I don't think mages can…"

"Oh."

Crest-fallen, Alistair looked over the snowy farmlands, his hand beginning to fall – but Neria caught it, wrapping her small fingers over his and the ring.

"Can't I just be your wife?"

He looked back to her and stood as she tugged his fingers.

"I never want the Chantry coming between us. We only need us," Neria pried the ring free, and she had to wipe her cheek with the back of her hand. "Just let me be your wife? Promise to be yours?"

Taking the ring back, Alistair trembled as he slipped it on her hand, softly saying, "My elven mage wife. I think the grand cleric just had a stroke."

Neria grinned, rubbing noses with him as he bent close, "My templar husband. Such sweet blasphemy."

Their laughter cut away into sweet, heated kisses, and Alistair closed his eyes as he wrapped Neria in his cloak.

o0o

* * *

o0o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Thank you for making it through one of my stories! I hope you enjoyed it, I'd always love to hear about what you think. I can scarce believe I finished another long story - and am half way through a third!
> 
> Enjoyed reading about Neria & Alistair? Look for the last story in the trilogy, following the elven mage in a post DA:A setting & featuring Cullen, Anders, OC Brant and more - **Bloodhound**.
> 
> Thanks again!


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